Wildling (5 page)

That was good.  It meant Lorian and Dorn could simply wander around behind the lair and it would never bother them. The horses might not like leaving the trail and having to force their way through the bush and Lorian would undoubtedly complain, but it was safe. Still, he knew he couldn't leave the beast there to strike out at the next person who crossed the trail. And there was a way to kill them safely. It was just a lot of hard work. But it had to be done. It was the duty of every man in these parts to kill them, before they started to increase in numbers.

Quietly Dorn crept down the tree and then worked his way around behind the lair until he was standing on the hill just above its den. Then he shifted back into his human form and started looking for rocks. Luckily there were a few around. The hill like much of the land all around had once been nothing but rock and dirt and it would be a long time before grass fully claimed it. After that it was just a matter of tossing the rocks down the bank - well, in the case of the larger rocks, actually rolling them down. He knew the beast wouldn't notice. Its attention was focused completely on the trail in front of it. A few rocks and a bit of dirt landing in front of the mouth of its den would be nothing. Even when they started obscuring its view. They weren't prey. And they would keep being nothing until the creature was completely walled in. It was that stupid.

This was the typical way a manticore was killed. And they were killed wherever possible, though usually it would be as a result of a few men with shovels doing the digging while another man made noises in the distance to keep the beast thinking there was prey nearby. Nothing could overcome the manticore's basic instinct to hunt.

It took time. There was only one of him and he didn't have a shovel. But luckily there were enough rocks lying around to make up for that problem, and about an hour later he was satisfied that the pile of debris piled up in front if the den was enough to stop it rushing out at anything that passed nearby. Then he spent another half hour pouring dirt over the rocks, hoping that the air would be in short supply too. In time he hoped, the creature would suffocate. And until it did it would lay there silently waiting to pounce on the prey walking along the track it could no longer even see. They really were stupid creatures.
But then according to legend they'd not only acquired the stinger of a scorpion when they'd been created, they'd gained its thoughts as well.

Of course he and Lorian would still have to go around it. If it somehow sensed that they were in front of it even through the rocks and dirt, it would try to strike, and though it would be slowed, it would still try to push its way through the rocks. It wouldn't catch them, but it might eventually realise it was trapped. They did have some basic wit. Then it would try to dig itself free and if it succeeded it would set about fixing its killing ground, ready for the next group to pass by. He didn't want that to happen, so signs would have to be posted on both sides of the trail. That too was normal.

But at least he could return to Lorian and inform her that the danger had been overcome. He doubted it would please her – nothing else seemed to. But even if she wasn't pleased she would finally know that he wasn't a wildcast.

The gift varied from person to person, and even members of the same family shared different types of gift. The sages said that in reality they all had the same gift; it just manifested itself differently according to the shape of the possessor's soul. But whatever the truth there was always one rule that applied to them all. No matter who you were or how powerful you were, a man had only one gift. Dorn was a shifter so he could not be a wildcast. She had seen him change so she could not deny him that. Surely?
Unless she had a second gift herself – perversity.

He wondered about that as he made his way back to her. And about the new complaints she would make when he told her that they'd have to force their way through the bush for a bit. But still, he decided as he approached, one threat was ended. The journey had begun well.

Dorn changed back to his human form, stood up and pushed his way through the last of the bush to meet up with Lorian again. But when he'd finally emerged from the trees he was brought up short in surprise.

“
What the -.”

Lorian wasn't alone. Another man was there beside her, a thin dangerous looking man with a long thin beard sitting on a dark coloured mare wearing the saddle and bridle of the dusky elves. Dorn instinctively didn't trust him. “Who are you?”

“Rodan.” The man nodded at him, but it wasn't the polite expression of strangers meeting. It was something else. Something cold, almost threatening. Dorn didn't understand that. He'd never met the man before. He knew nothing about him. And to make matters worse there was some sort of thunder in the air. A strange rumbling that made him nervous.

“
I'm -.”

“
You're the hell cat.” The man interrupted him bluntly leaving Dorn standing there wondering what to say. Wondering why Lorian looked so frightened. But he didn't have to wonder for long. Unexpectedly the temperature dropped and the air became heavy and he knew something was wrong, very wrong. He looked around hurriedly, trying to understand.

“
What's -.”

“
Goodbye.” The man smiled at him unexpectedly and Dorn's blood chilled. He knew something bad was going to happen, but he didn't know what. And then he saw light all around him and he understood. The man was a wildcast.

But it was too late to do anything about that, as the light ripped through his eyes and something burnt right through him. Lightning. It was too late to do anything but scream as he was blown off his feet and sent flying in an explosion of pain and wind. And he couldn't even do that as the wind stole his voice.

After that things were confused. There was pain, burning pain shooting from his shoulder to his foot. There was more pain as he felt his skin being flayed off him by branches as he crashed through them. And then there was some sort of impact and what felt like a bone in his chest breaking, a rib maybe.

Things went black for a little while after that. But the darkness couldn't last. Not when the pain was there to rouse him.

He came to, hearing voices; a man and a woman arguing about something. The sound of twigs snapping and bushes being pushed aside as someone tried to force his way through them as he hunted him. But he didn't care about that when his entire body felt like it was on fire. He was burning inside and out.

Instinctively Dorn shifted, knowing as all shifters did that the transformation helped. It healed them in a way that nothing else could. It sealed wounds and stopped any ongoing damage. It ended disease and stopped poison as well. Moments later he was on four feet and the pain had ended. He could see again, and make out the sounds of the man getting closer. And he knew he had to get away. The shift had stopped the burning and started the healing process as he knew it would, but he was still kitten weak and would be for a long time to come. He couldn't take another blast like that.

Somehow Dorn got to his feet and then lowered himself into a natural crouch as he crept further away into the bush, unheard and unseen. Soon the sound of the man breaking his way through the bushes grew quieter behind him. That was good, but at the same time he was growing weaker with every step. He couldn't go much further. The damage done to him had been too great and the strength needed to heal it enormous. He needed to rest and to feed.

It was then that he spied the cedar ahead and knew his safety lay in it. He had to sleep and he couldn't sleep on the ground. Even if the wildcast didn't find him there were other predators that would. Predators that wouldn't care that he was a panther. Trees were a safer option.

Dorn crept as quickly as he could to it and then ran up thirty or so feet until he found a place where two branches emerged from the same knot on the tree trunk. A place where more branches below would screen him from those on the ground. And that he knew as he collapsed and wedged himself into it was the safest place he would find to sleep.

It had to be, because as the last of his strength was leaving him the darkness was already taking him. Food would have to wait.

Chapter Six.

Lorian was angry and shocked. So angry that it was overcoming even her fear as her captor laughed quietly to himself while he played with the knife he'd taken from Dorn's pack. He’d strewn the rest of Dorn's stuff around the trail. Rodan had had no use for his clothes. He'd taken the knife, his arrows, food and some coins and thrown the rest on the ground. It was worse than disrespectful. To have murdered him in cold blood and then to simply throw what he'd stolen from him away! There was no word for how terrible that was.

She hated him for that. And for having forced her to sit there and say nothing as Dorn had walked into his trap. But the fear was there as well, lurking, waiting to pounce as she found herself once more a captive. Her freedom had lasted a single day. Not even that. And worse, even though he hadn't collared her, and even though he was human, Rodan was in every other way exactly like the dusky elves who had taken her and Marian prisoner a week before. Cruel and intolerant and worst of all a killer without remorse.

“
You murdered him,” Lorian snapped and accused her captor of his crime and then wished she could do more than just use her words. She wanted to use her fists. To hit him. Beat him. Maybe even kill him.

“
I defeated him,” Rodan corrected her, and then smiled as if he was pleased with what he'd done. And the truth was that he was pleased. She knew that. She couldn't understand it, but she knew it for the truth. He didn't have the pointed teeth of the dusky elves but he had their cruel smile. “He was an enemy and now he's vanquished. That's not murder. That's battle. If he had been stronger or smarter he would have killed me.”

He laughed at her as he threw away the last of Dorn's pack and then let out a whistle – a piercing sound that cut the air. Moments later she heard the clip clop of hooves and turned to see Marian and the other man heading up the track to them. Both were bound to their horses, wrists cruelly strapped to the pommels, legs strapped to the saddles. And both were still bleeding. Rodan had beaten them for some reason. Probably because he enjoyed it. He liked to cause pain. Her wrists were hurting simply because he enjoyed tightening the leather straps too tight. And her head throbbed from where he had hit her as she'd sat waiting for Dorn to return.

“You lied to me.”

“
So? Who are you to demand the truth? The truth is for those who are worthy of it.”

He laughed at her some more, as if she'd said something funny and she hated him for that. But she feared him too. By all the gods he sounded like a dusky elf. He said exactly the same things as they did. He did the same things as they did. Yet he was human. There was nothing of their impossibly thin build in him. His eyes were green blue, not yellow. His teeth were flat and even. And his ears didn't stick out. He was pure human in form and pure dusky elf in heart.

“Lorian” Marian greeted her as they drew close, her voice full of sorrow but not surprise and Lorian was glad to hear her voice. But not to see her. Marian's face was damaged. Horribly so. Worse so than she remembered. At some point Rodan had punched her, and put all his strength into it. The left side was completely black from the bruises and the eye itself was blood red. She could barely open it at all. There was even blood on her long white gold hair. That was a terrible thing to do to a woman, especially one who had never done anything to anyone but try to help them. She was High Fold's healer not some brigand. And she wouldn't have put up a fight. She couldn't. She was part wayfarer, and they were always people of peace. Anyone could see that.

She was also still wearing the collar that the dusky elves had locked around both of their necks when they'd been surrendered to them and she wondered why. She was no longer their prisoner. And it was a horribly cruel device. Lorian could see the dried blood and the red welt around her neck from where it had rubbed against the skin for so long. The same welt she had around hers.

The man with her she didn't know. But she knew he was in pain as well. He had been collared as well and after that he had been beaten. Judging from the way he could barely sit up in the saddle she guessed that the bruises on his face would be as nothing compared to the marks on his body. He looked to be close to collapse, and if he hadn't been bound into the saddle she guessed he would have fallen off.

Rodan didn't care about that though as he lashed the horses together. In fact she thought he might have found it amusing.

“How did he catch you?” She whispered the question to her friend when she drew close enough so that they could finally speak, and got a surprised look from her.

“
Catch me? He didn't. I was chained to a tree. There was a battle after you left. One lot of elves came and drove the other lot away. I was still chained to a tree. There was no catching.”

“
But you had to have got away from the elves like me at some point. Or did they sell you?”

It was the only thing she could think of that made any sense. Though why the elves would sell their prisoners to a man who then set about killing them she didn't know. She realised now that Rodan was the man who had freed the people of Little Rock by killing the elves that had taken it. There couldn't be two wildcasts of lightning around, could there?

“I didn't get away.” Marian didn't seem to understand what she was saying and Lorian wondered if she'd been hit too hard. If there was more wrong with her than she could see and the beating had affected her thoughts. It happened sometimes. And too often when it did people died. That was not good. She didn't want her friend to die. She did not want to be left alone in the forest with this monster.

“
We were given to the dusky elves. Now we're with him. You must have got away somehow.”

“
No.” Marian shook her head carefully, probably because it hurt. “He's one of them. His clan gave us to him when he set off after the other wildlings because he needed a hound and a healer. A hound to hunt and a healer to keep any useful wildlings alive after he struck them with his lightning.”

“
That's not possible. He's human.”

“
Human?” Rodan interrupted them abruptly and he sounded angry. He was angry. She discovered that when she felt his fist suddenly connect with her mouth. When she tasted blood in her mouth and heard him yell at her.

“
How dare you, you worthless slut. I am Rodan Lightfoot of the Silver Bow Clan and I will not be called a miserable human!” He punched her again, this time in the stomach, driving the air from her lungs, and doubling her over on the pommel.

“
I kill humans!” He spat at her in fury while she lay there trying to breathe. “I kill all the enemies of my clan!”

“
I killed the worthless hell cat. I destroyed the elves of the Fire Bow Clan in that disgusting little town. And I have killed countless others! I will kill you too if you speak such poisonous lies! After I have cut your tongue out for speaking them.”

The last was said in a low, threatening tone, designed to frighten her. It did just that. As she lay there gasping Lorian was truly scared. Frightened as she had never been before in her life. The man was crazed but deadly with it.

But at least she couldn't argue with him as she wanted to. She couldn't say something else to anger him. Not when she couldn't breathe. And that seemed to give the man time to calm down. Time to return to his gloating.

“
In three days, four at most, you will be back with my brothers. You will begin again your life as our property. And you will not be alone. I do not know why those glowing people freed you. Or why they have sent others of your kind northwards to this temple. But I know that they were fools. Because of them I will follow and lay traps for the others and soon many more will join you in my clan's service. They like all others, will serve the clan.”

“
But maybe you will be lucky. Maybe one of my brothers will find you suitable, and will gift you with a child. A son. A son that might one day ride with the clan. You should hope for that.”

The terrible thing was that he meant it. Lorian knew that as she lay bent over the saddle trying to breathe. He was crazed but he was a dusky elf. And for them the greatest honour any woman could ever achieve was to be the mother of a rider. Of course even then they were still little more than slaves.

She did not want to be a slave. But she knew now that she had no hope. Dorn might have been able to save her if he'd known. But he was dead, thanks in part to her. She should have called out to him, warned him. Except that Rodan would have killed Marian. Healers were not respected by the elves. Wayfarers were hated. And she couldn't let her friend die.

She cursed herself as Rodan mounted up and prepared to lead them through the forest. She cursed herself as no one else could. How could she have made such a terrible mess of things?

But in the end it didn't matter she knew. She was doomed. Her friend was doomed. The other prisoner as well. There was nothing they could do.

Except maybe pray that the glowing people would learn of their fate and do something.