The Last of the Ageless (23 page)

The rest of the afternoon, the two slaves showed the villagers of Mapleton how to make the best use of their weapons. It reminded Korreth of the slave yards, where he and Jorrim had watched the Changeling recruits being trained. Except their arsenal had consisted of the power to throw lightning, inhuman speed, the ability to redirect the wind itself, and other Changeling powers.

For the first time, Korreth wished they had some Changelings with them. Most of their new Purebred trainees’ bullets and crossbow bolts veered off target.

Korreth and Jorrim also practiced with the red energy rifles, or “SCLs,” as their mistress had called them. With each pull of the trigger, Korreth felt heat radiating from the barrel as the red ball discharged, sizzling through the air toward its target. After two hits, the treetop he was shooting at severed from its trunk. It fell to the ground amid the sounds of brittle twigs cracking and the crunch of its dry leaves.

“Korreth, Jorrim, that’s enough,” Soledad warned. “Don’t waste any more energy in those guns. Remember, the energy packs can only be recharged by daylight. At night, all you’ve got is whatever’s left in the packs themselves.”

Distracted by her words, Al misfired, and his arrow went flying. His mouth opened in an O when he saw how close it had come to hitting Lor. Al dropped the bow.

Korreth smiled at him to put him at ease, then checked their ammunition and took a seat in the shade of one of the larger rocks. Jorrim stalked off to instruct a gangly teenager about the best targets to aim for with a crossbow.

The young woman who had stood up to Olix passed by Al and patted his forearm. She offered Korreth a canteen, which he accepted with a smile.

Tora,
he remembered as she sat down beside him. “Farlen said he offered you clan status.”

“If we survive,” Korreth said without thinking.

Tora’s smile disappeared. “Yes, well, there’s that. But you and your friends kindly showed us how to use the weapons you gave us. I think we’ll be alright.”

Korreth stared at her, trying to think of what to say. Wide and deep, her dark blue eyes reflected his expression like pools of fresh water he could dip into and wash away all his worries. His tongue unwound itself, and negativity gushed out. “More goes into fighting than just knowing which end of the weapon to use.”

She blushed, making him regret his tone. As she looked down at her hands, her long brown hair shrouded her face.

“Sorry,” Korreth said, backtracking. “A lot of it is mindset. You must be hardened against what you see. You have to come to terms with the damage you’ll inflict on other people: limbs hacked off, eyes punctured, throats slit. And you have to be steeled against the fact that some of your friends will fall beside you… and they may not die quickly.”

Her gaze hardened. He opened his mouth to apologize again, but she held up a hand.

“Like you, I came back to find my village in ruins. I didn’t see the fight itself, but I did see the aftereffects. My uncle suffered horrible gashes across his chest and neck from that Changeling woman’s claws. It took him a while to die, as you said. Trust me when I say I’m in the
mindset
to watch her suffer. And her companions, who killed more of our clanmates when they went to bring her to justice. I’m ready.”

Korreth nodded. He hoped so. Tora’s eyes followed the horizon. When her gaze met his again, most of the hardness had faded from her expression. “So tell me about your old tribe.”

Korreth opened his mouth, and then closed it. The villagers thought him from Jorrim’s home of Rozle. They thought Zen’s pawns had slaughtered their tribe. He couldn’t tell her about his home in Zhouri, or that he’d been a slave of the Badlands Army, or how he and Jorrim had met.

“I—I don’t want to talk about it,” Korreth finally said. Tora raised an eyebrow. “All my tribemates are dead,” he finished lamely.

She patted his shoulder and stood up. “I understand.”

Mira started a small fire as the day darkened into night. Tora and Al split some of the food Waylen had left behind and made split cactus stew for the rest of them. Korreth kept out of the way as they bustled about.

“A fire? They’ll spot us for sure!” the gangly teenager said, but he didn’t complain when Al handed him some bread.

“Hush, Duwin,” Tora said. “Soledad said we’re miles away, and we’re hidden behind these rocks.”

The camp settled into uneasy silence as Al portioned out the meal for everyone. Waylen returned while they were eating, his mule struggling against him every step of the way.

“I saw them!” He tied the mule to a tree. “If you’re gonna be difficult, argue with that tree,” he told the beast before turning back to the villagers, who had gathered around him. “I done seen a man wearing Gryid’s necklace. And one of them Joeys, too. Now, I didn’t see Gryid. But I did see the woman who hurt Gryid and burned down our village—also wearing Gryid’s magic necklace. Soledad told us right. We’ll get our vengeance!”

The villagers raised their weapons and shouted, “Vengeance for the dead!”

But Korreth’s stomach dropped at the news, and the scent of boiling food nauseated him. The woman’s companions might be Changelings as well. He’d heard tales of Changeling Joeys, and though he’d always doubted their veracity, the Changeling would likely ally herself with other Changelings, not Purebreeds of either species.

If Soledad’s squad of barely trained Purebreeds went up against three Changelings, their superior numbers wouldn’t count for much, especially considering how much havoc she’d wrought in Mapleton on her own.

“What are we waiting for?” Duwin yelled.

“We should get some rest and wait for daylight,” Soledad cautioned. “It’s too difficult to sneak across this rocky terrain at night. We’d give ourselves away.”

Ritgur snorted. “Who needs daylight while our enemies are so close and need killing? There’s only three of them.”

Farlen started to speak up, “Don’t you remember—” but a chorus of other voices drowned him out as they bellowed for vengeance. Lor scowled at them, the firelight casting shadows across his face.

Korreth cleared his throat. The night gave the feline the advantage. But as Korreth opened his mouth to try yelling over them, Soledad motioned him silent.

“Let’s go, then!” she shouted, getting the villagers’ attention. “Remember, though, we need information from them. Waylen said Gryid and Rollick weren’t with them, so we need to uncover our friends’ whereabouts. Shoot to injure, not to kill.”

“And remember also—the key is stealth,” Jorrim said before they set out.

Waylen started to untie his mule, but Farlen walked over and entered into a quiet argument with him as the others left them behind. Korreth waited to make sure they didn’t get lost from the group.

“Look, Waylen,” Farlen finally said. “No more arguing. We’d have to leave it out there in the dark once we attack. Its braying might could give us away. It’ll be safer here, hidden in the rocks.”

“Fine,” Waylen said, picking up his club.

Korreth motioned them in the direction the others had gone. By leaving so many of their provisions behind, they risked a wanderer or a nomadic tribe taking advantage, but Farlen was right.

Each villager carried a weapon and not much else. As they marched, Jorrim ensured each person tied down anything that might make a sound against their bodies.

Korreth caught up and then led the way, watching for branches or brush that might make too much noise. Tomlen, Tora, Al, and Mira followed close behind, with the others stretching out in a line. They crept along at what felt like a snail’s pace.

“Keep an eye out,” Korreth whispered over his shoulder. “We’re not sure what other clans may be out here, and they might think us invaders.” Al and Mira whispered his message to others who might not have heard. They continued in near-silence.

After hours of tense walking, Waylen grabbed Korreth’s arm and whispered, “Not far now.”

Jorrim tapped Korreth’s shoulder, and they both lowered to their stomachs. The villagers hesitated.

“The night can only hide us for so long from Changeling eyes,” Korreth murmured. He was sure it was nearly dawn.

The villagers dropped down and joined them. They crept closer. Korreth’s breath disturbed the dust as he inched along, reminding him of when he and Jorrim had tried to escape Soledad and had been flattened to the earth by her spell.

Jorrim motioned, and Korreth froze. All the quiet movement behind them stopped. Ahead, a Joey paced near a man asleep on the ground. Firelight lit his face, and Korreth estimated him to be little more than a teenager.

Jorrim elbowed Waylen and whispered, “You sure this is them? I don’t see the woman.”

The Joey kicked the teenager awake. He groaned and sat up, only to be dragged to his feet. The Joey pointed to the sky.

“Me neither,” Waylen whispered, “but she was here earlier. Maybe she’s out doing her business in the bushes.”

“Well, hopefully not in this direction,” Soledad whispered. “Now, remember what I said, everyone. Aim to injure, not to kill. We need information.”

Korreth stared, hardly daring to blink. From the darkness behind the Joey came movement. The firelight revealed the Changeling as she pushed past stunted trees and stepped over bushes. The villagers hadn’t been exaggerating: furry ears topped her head, with black stripes curving across her orange humanoid face. Korreth didn’t see claws on her fingertips, but he believed the villagers’ stories. Ferocity radiated from her eyes.

“That’s her alright,” Ritgur said in a low voice nearby. “She’s gonna pay for the horrible way my brother died.”

“Hush,” Lor whispered.

“Aim carefully.” Soledad rose into a crouch.

Korreth brought the tip of his energy rifle up in between two bushes, willing them not to rustle, as he aimed for the Joey.

Korreth’s heart almost leaped into his throat when Waylen burst from their position, wielding nothing more than a club in one hand and a knife in the other.

“Vengeance!” Waylen screamed, and the other villagers roared behind him, raising their own mismatched weapons.

Dalan awoke to the buzz of Saquey’s wings and a kick in the ribs. He jolted upright to the chaos of Ti’rros saying, “We’re about to be attacked,” at the same time the necklace warned,
They’re going to try to take you from me.

“What?” His dragonfly sent him a nighttime view from spiraling heights. He concentrated on what he saw: desert shrubs and a group of raiders crawling on hands and knees with weapons slung across their backs. Saquey followed their trajectory, revealing the camp where Dalan now sat.

He shook his head to clear the vision. Before he could gather his wits, the Joey dragged him to his feet.

“Look!” she pointed overhead, a knife in hand. “Your insect…”

“Yes,” Dalan said, watching Saquey’s frantic antics in the air above. “Is trying to warn us. Will be ambushed.” He looked around. “Where’s Nyr?”

As though summoned, Nyr shoved past the scraggly borderlands trees toward them. Dalan started to warn her about the raiders, but then his heart skipped a beat when he saw motion behind her. Figures filed out behind Nyr, every one of them covered in orange-and-black fur—her clan.

Dalan raised his hands to warn them before realizing her clan could help thwart the impending ambush. He glanced back toward the raiders, now delineated into individual ghostly shapes on the ground.

Ti’rros pushed him away from Nyr’s people. “Run!”

“Not that way,” Dalan warned.

A raider burst from his position behind a bush. With his eyes locked on Nyr, he screamed “Vengeance!”

He charged toward her, club raised. His cohorts rose and yelled in solidarity.

Then their war cries choked off. Everyone froze.

The raiders and Nyr’s clanmates stared at one another, with Dalan and Ti’rros trapped between. Dalan realized neither group had been aware of the other.

Nyr drew a deep breath and extended a claw at the man who’d screamed for vengeance. “They’re trying to take our trinkets. Stop them!”

The felines let out their own war cries—inhuman hisses and growls.

In the moment before either side moved, Dalan considered his options. The Purebreeds acted under the auspices of vengeance. Without interfering, he and Ti’rros needed a way out.

The two sides charged one another.

Nyr, her eyes black, grabbed him by the shoulder. “They mean to kill you both. Run while they’re distracted.”

Ti’rros stumbled as a Purebreed tried to tackle her. Nyr shoved the man away. He charged Nyr next, his eyes bulging with hate, but another feline intercepted him.

Don’t let Nyr’s people take me from you,
the voice whispered in Dalan’s mind. He almost laughed at the preposterous notion: in the middle of this chaos, the necklace needed rescuing? The two groups collided beneath Saquey’s worried circling while Dalan began the internal changes to become the tail-horse, the only meld that might help save Ti’rros.

Before his vocal chords warped, Dalan said, “Ti’rros, jump on my back. Have to get out of here.”

Dalan fell to all fours and groaned in agony as his muscles stretched to form his prehensile, elephantine trunk of a tail. He lost all perspective on the free-for-all swarming around him until the tail-horse’s mind asserted itself. It nickered, the flesh of his back and legs twitching in fear. Before the tail-horse’s panic could overwhelm him, Dalan pushed back against it.