Chasers of the Wind (18 page)

As Luk listened to the tale of his companion’s adventures, he didn’t neglect to eat. He became warm and comfortable from the food. He began nodding off.

The soldier had just about succumbed to sleep when a terrified dog howled in the village. A second one joined in. Then a third. Then more and more.

Luk sprung to his feet. Creeping horrors ran up his spine. For some reason the howling seemed sinister.

“What are they howling for?”

“I don’t know. Sleep,” said the tracker without opening his eyes.

“They’re not doing it just for the fun of it. Listen to them!”

The bleak howls of the pack of dogs ascended to the heavens, echoed off the clouds and swept through the river valley, disrupting the predawn quiet. It seemed like the earth itself was groaning and trembling from the sound. The guard wanted to cover his ears with his hands. Just so he didn’t have to hear
that
.

“Our elders say that when a single dog howls, it’s sick. But when they all do disaster awaits,” said Ga-Nor after a brief pause.

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“Just what I said.” The Son of the Snow Leopard rolled over onto his other side. “Sleep. It’ll be morning soon.”

Then, as if by an invisible command, the howling ceased.

The tracker had been snoring for a long time, but there was no way Luk could sleep. The howls of the dogs were still ringing in his ears.

8

The krylgzan twitched his large, damp nose from side to side and shivered. He caught a scarcely perceptible scent weaving its way through the smells of early morning, fresh grass, and blooming strawberries. It was so desirable and enticing. The wind ripped through it, changing it into a phantom, and if he didn’t rush in pursuit of it, all traces would fade away.

Not hesitating, the beast unfolded his wings and flew upward in search of his elusive prey. Awoken after his five-year slumber, the krylgzan wanted to eat. He flew over the forest, amassing the venom in his jaws. As he flew over a large, marshy lake, he flushed out a fawn, but he didn’t let himself get sidetracked by it. The prey that the creature planned to take was far more worthy.

He had to travel more than eight leagues before he reached his goal. First the intensely sweet, deliriously tantalizing, pleasantly hot smell of fresh meat struck his nose. And then he saw eight tiny specks moving in a line down a forest road.

There were six quadrupeds, warm and trembling—horses. And six bipeds, tender and sweet—humans. But the last two were strange, with an unpleasant smell. He’d never encountered the like. At any other time the krylgzan would have exhibited caution before attacking them, but his hunger was far too great. Besides, how could these land-dwellers harm him?

The krylgzan was so focused on his choice of victims that he did not immediately see the village beyond the forest. But when he did, even the beast’s wings quivered with anticipation. So much meat! He hadn’t known there was so much food in these lands. It was a good thing that he’d left his old nest and flown here. Of course, the flight had taken all his strength, and he’d have to sleep for a long time, but he was about to eat his fill. First he’d eat the riders and then he might drag some of the human cubs from the large wooden nest on the shores of the river.

The beast selected his first victim. He would grab it before the others had time to come to their senses and understand what was attacking them. And then he’d spit his venom and kill the horse. And perhaps, if he was lucky, another rider as well.

The krylgzan folded his wings and plunged through the air like a stone. The black specks grew larger by leaps and bounds. While he was falling, something buzzed past him. Unfortunately for him, he ignored it, and the second shot was more accurate. A painful sting struck him in the chest. The pain spread.

The beast shrieked, spread his wings, causing him to slow down, and displayed his dreadful talons, threatening to rip his tormentor to shreds and—another four arrows found their target. The krylgzan, out of his mind from pain, spat venom without aiming. A wing exploded with pain, and it became hard to hold himself up in the air. With difficulty, he changed the direction of his flight, thinking of only one thing—flying away from here as quickly as possible. But when he passed over the tops of the spruces, they hit him again, this time in the eye, and the beast slammed into a tree trunk, breaking his wings. He fell to the ground and collapsed into a heap, convulsing fitfully.

*   *   *

Tia drew up her reins, a disinterested expression on her face, which hadn’t so much as twitched during the unexpected attack. Quite unlike her fellow travelers. Those idiots, stuffed into the black armor of the Nabatorian King’s Guard, had soiled their trousers the instant they were called upon to deal with something more dangerous than swords or spears. And they were supposed to protect her? The girl was sure that Tal’ki had been joking when she advised her to take an escort with her. Her Shay-za’n were far more useful than the guardsmen.

“Don’t bother, Sha-kho,” she said in a soft voice. “Don’t waste arrows on carrion. It’ll die anyway.”

The ancient Shay-za’n with the six violet feathers in his hair put his serrated arrow back in his quiver.

“As you say, my lady.” His soft voice sounded like the rustling of leaves. “It was circling above us. It may have wanted meat, but my brother and I killed it.”

“You did well. I’m pleased with you.”

This small praise was enough to cause both the old and the young Shay-za’n to rise up a yard and a half from the ground.

She slipped gracefully from the saddle.

“Lady,” said a gray, whiskered veteran. “That monster is still dangerous. I wouldn’t advise—”

“Did I ask you for your advice?” she asked coldly.

The captain choked and bit his tongue. His inferiors pretended they had heard nothing. The battle-hardened soldiers may not have outright feared the girl, but they were wary of her. They’d heard all sorts of stories about her callous nature.

At first glance, Tia looked no more than nineteen. She was of average height, lithe, with an excellent figure and a beautiful face. Her slanted, brown eyes, her perfectly straight nose, and her plump lips suggested ancient blood. Her black hair, which was twisted into two complicated braids, and her golden skin were the inheritance passed on to her by her mother, a southerner.

Her split skirt was dusty from the long road, and she wore suede boots with pointed heels, a man’s white shirt with a sharp collar, and a lady’s vest of a warm color that matched her skin.

She wore no adornment but a necklace made of tiny brown shells. She carried no weapons of any kind. There was nothing at all threatening about this girl. But the five Nabatorians and the two who were usually called Burnt Souls in the Empire obeyed her without question.

The krylgzan finally stopped wheezing, snapping its jaws and spitting its yellow, foamy saliva, and died.

“Check yourselves,” she said, not raising her voice. “If there’s any venom on your clothing or weapons, discard them. Sha-kho, follow me.”

Accompanied by the taciturn Shay-za’n, she walked over to the corpse. The krylgzan aroused her curiosity. These creatures lived far to the south, where the Boxwood Mountains turned into the impassable Cloudy Peaks. At the very edge of the earth. These beasts frequented the lands of the Empire even more rarely than they did those of Nabator and Sdis. This made the encounter all the more wondrous.

Trying not to step in the drops of poison, Tia walked around the body. She thought that Tal’ki would sell her soul for the beast’s poisonous fangs. She grinned balefully—she would not lift a finger to extract the priceless treasure from the jaws of the monster. She had no need of it. And she wasn’t about to bend over for Tal’ki’s sake. If the old crone wants it, let her come here herself and mess about with the corpse.

Of late, her mood had left much to be desired, and with good cause. When the Herald had appeared before her, she was many leagues away, traveling toward Leigh in Rovan’s company. Leigh had gotten mired in the Isthmuses of Lina and was in urgent need of help. The Herald had overturned all her plans, and she had to turn back quickly. The mad round-the-clock dash, constantly changing horses, the bad food, and the stupidity of her companions were driving her out of her mind.

When she had returned to the Towers, Mitifa was still hanging about, doggedly digging through the library of the Walkers. The stupid bitch had gotten it into her head that she could unravel the secrets of the Paths of Petals. It would be lovely to be able to travel great distances in an instant. It would solve a mass of logistical problems in a single stroke, but Mitifa was getting nowhere. She didn’t have enough brains to find the key to the Sculptor’s creation or to Sorita’s
(a Mother of the Walkers. She died during the Dark Revolt, battling against the Damned)
final incantation. Only Ginora could have wrestled with such a problem, but her bones had been lying in the Marshes of Erlika for a long time now. However, Mitifa did not realize that her efforts were doomed to failure. She fell greedily upon the old archives, and she’d been gnawing on them for more than a week with no results. Tia hated that fool with all her soul. Of course, if sworn to tell the truth, she would say she had no love for any of her associates. And she didn’t trust any of them. It was really only Tal’ki who deserved to have her advice listened to and even sometimes, under rare circumstances, followed. But the girl did not harbor any delusions about the Healer. As soon as she got the chance, the old hag would be the first to sell Tia off piece by piece.

Regardless of the wearisome journey, there were a few good things that had come from the Herald’s appearance. First, she got out from under Rovan’s intrusive regard, but more important, Leigh’s. That pair couldn’t hinder her now. Second, if the man who found the carrier of the Gift was not mistaken, and if she was able to get the spark under her control, her strength would increase. And that would be very good. Forever playing second string was becoming tiresome.

Tia leisurely walked back to her horse and mounted it. Her companions wisely kept their peace.

The small procession once again set off down the road.

Her bodyguards kept looking at the sky, but the girl did not bother to explain to them that a second krylgzan was unlikely to appear in these parts for another hundred years. Definitely no sooner than that. Right now, all she wanted was to be away from these people. She ached to rid herself of her dusty clothes, redolent of sweat, crawl into a hot herbal bath, and sit there until the end of time. And she wouldn’t say no to a pretty little servant girl washing her back, either.

The forest fell away to the sides and the road, briskly running past wildly colorful bushes, descended a hill toward a bridge. Not far from the standing stone, the road forked. One fork climbed a low hill, while the second swerved sharply to the west, cut across the valley, and once again plunged into the forest. Toward Al’sgara. Not far from this road, construction was fast under way. They’d already managed to erect one tower and the western wall of a fort, a large barracks, and two observation towers. There was also construction going on near the hill. They were raising the foundation of the future command post and fortifying the road on either side. At the crest of the hill was another tower.

The group encountered a checkpoint patrol—five riders armed with swords and light bows.

“What fate brings you to this hellhole?” one of the patrolmen greeted Gry.

No one paid attention to Tia. Sha-to and his brother were far more interesting. Most Nabatorians still hadn’t gotten used to that race.

“Who’s the commander?” demanded Gry.

“Captain Nai,” said the patrolman, instantly pulling himself together in his saddle.

“Take us to him,” said Tia with a smile.

The astonished soldier peered at the King’s Guardsman, but he was unperturbed. The rider proved himself a clever man and luckily did not ask why he should follow the commands of some girl.

“Yes, my lady.”

Tia squinted her eyes against the intense morning sunlight. Her mood was improving. The long journey had come to an end, even if Dog Green wasn’t all that impressive. True, the girl hadn’t really expected otherwise. It was a village, like any other village. There were thousands like it in the world. She only hoped she’d be able to find a bath.

A strong, solid gallows stood just outside the little village. It consisted of two columns, a crossbar, and five reeking corpses. Tia frowned. What a nasty habit, leaving such filth around. Once they’d executed them, they should have buried them before they started to stink. This was exactly like Rovan’s attitude toward execution, and she hated him for it. That maggot, for all his luck and usefulness to the cause, had suffered from a virulent depravity from a very young age—an irrepressible urge to surround himself with dead bodies. He tortured people with cause and without, and afterward he enthusiastically added their heads to the little decorative stockade that surrounded his tent so he could inhale the perfume of their decomposition in the weeks that followed. Tia hated Rovan. She did not understand how such a brute could be born from the same mother as Retar.

“Take those corpses down,” she said in a low voice. “Right now.”

“But, my lady, we should stay with you,” Gry tried to object.

“Nothing is going to happen to me. However…” She thought for a second and then came to a decision. “You can stay.”

A soldier riding ahead of them overheard this conversation and nearly fell from his saddle. Was this a joke? Were the warriors of His Majesty’s Black Guard really going to become gravediggers on the whim of some wench?

Stopping at the inn, Tia nimbly slid from her saddle and stretched. She thought that if Mitifa really did succeed in animating the Paths of Petals, she would be the first to thank her. Traveling in such a manner would be far easier than by horse.

After the long stint in the saddle she felt like an old woman, and only a bath could save her.