Guardians of the Lost (27 page)

He was about to ask more questions when Qu-tok, apparently thinking Raven had been tormented enough, called out. Dur-zor leapt to obey, but, as she was turning to run off, she said swiftly to Raven over her shoulder:

“Tomorrow is a god day.”

Raven jumped to his feet, lurched after her, tried to stop her, to question her further. His chain dragged him to a halt and he stared after Dur-zor with a frustration that highly gratified the watching Qu-tok, for he grinned widely and, laughing, pointed out Raven to his fellow warriors. Because he was in a good humor, Qu-tok did not strike Dur-zor, but merely kicked her as she knelt before him, dismissed her to go about her duties.

Raven slumped down beside his stake. He tried yet again to rend his chains—an exercise in futility and one that did nothing to relieve his frustration.

Tomorrow, a god day.

According to Dur-zor, on that day he would be sent off to some slave camp. Once that happened, he would lose the chance to gain his revenge on Qu-tok. He would die a slave, die in shame. He would never ride with the honored dead of his race, never join them to fight the battles of heaven as they had come together to fight for the soul of the dying knight. His fellow warriors would turn their faces from him.

He tried to think of a plan, but at last gave it up. He had no idea
what was going to happen, what a “god day” entailed. Would he actually be confronting a god? Raven had no idea. He fell asleep, chained to his stake, resolving to be awake early on the morrow, watch for his opportunity, and seize it.

 

The entire taan encampment was up early on the god day, for next to fighting battles, these days were the high points in the lives of the taan. The warriors emerged from their tent wearing decorations of beads and feathers, skulls and scalps and every piece of armor they owned, polished to a high gleam. Those warriors who had not yet won glory in battle wore armor made of bones attached to a heavy leather backing or, in some instances, no armor at all, preferring instead to wear only a loincloth that showed off their ritual scarification and the gem stones that were lumps beneath their hide.

The warriors congregated together, male and female, and by their loud voices and hand gestures, Raven gathered that they were telling tales of past battles. The taskers and taan children, the half-taans and human slaves cleaned the campsite, even to the point of sweeping the ground with leafy boughs to remove rocks and sticks, gnawed bones and other refuse.

The shaman R'lt made an appearance, dressed in long black robes with the hide of a wild cat draped around his shoulders. He was attended by two young taan, who emulated his every move and gesture. R'lt joined the warriors, who were careful to make room for him and include him in their circle. The apprentices, if that's what the younger taan were, squatted at some distance outside the circle, keeping watch attentively on their master.

The camp clean, the taskers set about cooking. The taan had killed several wild boar in the past few days and these were being roasted in a pit. Wild boar are strong food, Dur-zor told Raven, worthy of being consumed on a god day.

The smell of the roasting boar meat was tantalizing to Raven, who would not eat until sunset and then he would not be given any of the boar meat. That would go to the warriors first and, if there was any left over, to the taskers and the children. Slaves and the
half-taan were given weak food: rabbit, deer, squirrel. He kept close watch on the camp, hoping to see Dur-zor, hoping to catch her eye.

His hope was a faint one, for Dur-zor had never before looked his direction as she went about her daily tasks. He was amazed when she glanced at him this morning and pleased beyond measure when she came toward him.

“Qu-tok sent me,” she said, placing a food bowl down just within Raven's reach. “He wants you to eat this now so that you will look strong when the god's chosen come to judge the worthiness of the slaves taken in battle.”

“Dur-zor,” Raven pleaded, “stay for just a moment. Tell me what's going to happen.”

Dur-zor paused, glanced uncertainly in the direction of Qu-tok. “I have much to do—” she began.

“If you don't stay, I will not eat,” said Raven, spurning the bowl of steaming meat. He disliked doing that, for he knew that if he did not eat, Dur-zor would be the one who was punished. She would probably be punished, anyway, but he had no choice. He was desperate.

“Very well,” she said, squatting down beside him. “This morning, the camp is cleaned and made ready for the presence of the god or his chosen, if the god is too busy to come. When the sun reaches its height, the kdah-klks will begin.”

“What are those…things?” Raven could not have said the word kdah-klks without strangling himself.

“Contests between warriors. Long ago, in the taan home world, the nizam were chosen from the strongest warriors. To determine which was the strongest, the warriors would come together and fight for the honor of being chief of the tribe. The battle was to the death. If the loser didn't die, he was cast out of the tribe, which meant almost certain death. Our god said that this was a wasteful practice, that too many strong warriors were being killed. He said that from now on, the kdah-klks would be ceremonial in nature. Now warriors fight each other for prizes given by the god, for weapons or armor, and for their own honor. Do you understand?”

Raven didn't immediately answer. He was chewing more slowly, thinking. At last he spoke, “What will happen to me and the other slaves?”

“Usually our god or his chosen come to watch the kdah-klks, for our god always enjoys the contests. When the kdah-klks are ended, he will award prizes. He will then call for the slaves. The taan who captured slaves will bring them before our god, who will judge their worthiness, and then exchange armor and weapons for those slaves he wants to serve him. All the slaves he chooses are then taken to the mines or wherever else it pleases our god to take them. The human females will probably remain here. You are certain to be sent to the mines, for our god needs strong slaves to work there.”

Was it his imagination or did she sound a little sorry that he was leaving? Raven had been wondering if their daily conversations had meant anything at all to her, if she had enjoyed speaking with him or if he was just another chore. He had guessed the latter, but now he was beginning to think he'd been wrong.

He was silent, slowly chewing the last of his meat. Dur-zor kept casting worried glances over her shoulder at Qu-tok. Fortunately, the warrior was deeply engrossed in listening to another warrior's story and appeared to have forgotten about them.

Finishing the last of his food, Raven reached a decision. He had no idea what this might gain him, but he could lose nothing by trying.

“Dur-zor,” Raven said, “I want you to tell Qu-tok that I want to take part in the”—he stumbled over the name—“the kad-kill.”

Her eyes widened in amazement. “The kdah-klks?”

“Yes, that thing,” Raven said.

“Impossible.” Dur-zor snatched at the bowl to try to retrieve it. “You are a slave.”

“No! Wait, Dur-zor! Hear me out!” Raven held fast to the bowl, would not give it back and she dared not come close enough to him to take it. “Tell Qu-tok that I want to prove my worthiness as his slave by fighting in the contest. I would like to fight Qu-tok,” he added and knew at once by the look on Dur-zor's face that such an honor was beyond the realm of possibility. “But if I can't fight him,
I'll fight anyone he chooses. I'll fight any way he says, with a weapon or bare-handed.”

Dur-zor was shaking her head.

“Tell Qu-tok that if I win, I will be worth my weight in armor,” Raven continued.

“If you lose, if you are killed, Qu-tok will lose his prize.”

“That's a risk he'll have to take. I take a risk, so does he. Is Qu-tok a gambler, Dur-zor?”

Dur-zor chewed her lip. “Do you truly want this, Ravenstrike?”

“I do, Dur-zor.”

She sighed and he was afraid for a moment that she wasn't going to go along with this, then, suddenly, she smiled.

“Nothing like this has ever happened in the kdah-klks. Still, there is a chance they will go along. All taan are gamblers. I will tell Qu-tok what you have said.”

Raven put down the empty bowl. Dur-zor picked it up and departed. Going over to the warriors' circle, Dur-zor knelt in the dirt some distance from them until one of them should deign to notice her. The shaman, R'lt, finally saw her and called Qu-tok's attention to the half-taan. He appeared highly irritated at being interrupted and, jerking her roughly to her feet, lifted his hand, about to strike her across the face.

Dur-zor spoke rapidly, gesturing repeatedly to Ravenstrike, who was standing on his feet, staring intently at Qu-tok.

The taan listened in astonishment. Several of the warriors began to laugh derisively, but not Qu-tok. Raven's hopes remained high. Qu-tok appeared intrigued. Perhaps he was a gambler, capable of risking all for high stakes. Qu-tok said something and the laughter of the warriors changed to shouts of outrage and anger.

The shaman, R'lt, kept silent. So, too, did the chieftain, Dag-ruk. Qu-tok appealed to her directly. Dag-ruk asked a question of R'lt.

Raven couldn't understand their language, but he could guess at the import of that question. Dag-ruk was asking her shaman if the god would have any objections. R'lt shrugged, shook his head. Dag-ruk looked at Qu-tok and gave a single nod.

Qu-tok was well pleased with himself. Raven guessed by the glum expressions on the faces of the other warriors that Qu-tok had gained some sort of advantage over them. Qu-tok gave Dur-zor a shove in the direction of Raven, then the taan warrior went back to his story-telling.

“Qu-tok agrees,” Dur-zor reported. “The huntmaster has given her permission. The shaman says that our god will have no objection. The huntmaster will choose the weapons and who will fight. Probably one of the young warriors,” she added, with a gesture to those young taan who wore no armor. Hanging about on the fringes of the warrior circle, they stared at their betters with undisguised longing and envy. “They would usually scorn to fight a slave, but they will want to gain favor with both Qu-tok and the huntmaster.”

“When will it happen?” asked Raven, eager and impatient.

“When the huntmaster decides,” Dur-zor replied. Her brows came together over her snout-like nose. “I know what you are trying to do, Raven.” She pronounced his name oddly, rolling the r's.

“Do you, Dur-zor?” He eyed her, wondering if she would warn Qu-tok.

“You seek a quick death,” she said. She shook her head. “I do not think that will happen. No matter what you do.”

Raven relaxed, grinned. “Wish me luck, Dur-zor.”

“Luck.” She repeated the word with a shrug. “Luck is for the masters. For slaves and the likes of us, there is no such thing.”

W
hen the sun blazed high in the sky, the kdah-klks began.

Acting under his instructions, R'lt's apprentices made a large circle outside the center circle of tents. For the first time, Raven saw the taan use Void magic. Under the watchful eye of the shaman, the apprentices ran their hands through the grass and, wherever they touched it, the grass blackened and withered and died. When the outer ring had been formed and the shaman approved, the young taan moved into the center, killing all the grass inside the ring and tamping the dead stalks smooth with their bare feet.

Raven's skin crawled in revulsion. He glanced around, thinking that some of the taan might be offended by the use of such heinous magic, saw all the taan watching with eager anticipation. It occurred to Raven that the taan were not shocked by the use of Void magic because that was the sort of magic they habitually used. The races on Loerem were skilled in the various magicks of creation. The taan, it seemed, were skilled in the magic of destruction.

For the first time since his capture, Raven thought of the rest of the people of Loerem, who would shortly be facing this army of savage monsters, skilled warriors and skilled wizards, dealing in
death. How could the people of Loerem survive such an onslaught? He envisioned one proud city after another falling to these creatures and to their god, Dagnarus, the way Dunkar had fallen. The taan had beaten the Trevenici, the greatest warriors in the world. The rest did not stand a chance.

Once the circle was formed, R'lt took his place in the center and began to make a guttural hooting sound that might have been a chant, for his voice rose and fell. The taan gathered around the circle, the taskers holding onto small children, the warriors standing together. The half-taan were permitted to attend, taking their places behind the circle of taskers and children. Slaves were present as trophies, their chains held by the taskers. The human women watched dully, hopelessly, not caring what was going to happen.

The huntmaster came forward to stand in the center of the circle and spoke to the battle group. Many times had Raven seen one of his own tribal elders standing in the same place, announcing the rules of a contest, and he was overwhelmed with a feeling of homesickness that came near to unmanning him. Banishing the memory, he concentrated on the proceedings.

There were not many rules, apparently, for Dag-ruk did not speak long. She left the circle. He tensed, thinking that he might be called to fight, but two taan warriors took their places. They each bore a strange weapon—a sword with two blades that formed a V shape.

Raven never knew which struck first, for the fight was joined in a blur of speed. He had trouble seeing from his vantage point, for the taan blocked his view. Hearing howls and the clash of steel and what sounded like a really good fight, he strained to see and cursed those who got in his way.

He assumed that the fight would be contained within the circle, for this is how contests were run among the Trevenici. But the taan circle was nothing more than a staging area, apparently, for the fight was soon carried outside it. The battling warriors broke through the crowd, knocking down a few children who did not move swiftly enough to get out of their way. No one seemed to mind, least of all the taan children, who scrambled to their feet and returned eagerly to watch the battle.

The combat raged through the camp, the two slashing at each other with the fearsome looking weapons, smashing tents, upending pots and once coming perilously close to the fire over which the boar was roasting. Both had drawn blood, for their hides were spattered with red.

Raven had a good view now and he watched with grudging admiration, impressed with the skill of the warriors in handling what looked to him to be a weapon that could be as dangerous to the wielder as to an opponent. He noted that one taan appeared to be weakening. His foot slipped. He went down on one knee and did not leap back up as swiftly as he might have. He snatched a moment to try to catch his breath.

His opponent did not give him the opportunity, but pressed his attack, forcing the taan to lurch to his feet. The contest ended a short time after, with the stronger taan kicking the weapon out of his opponent's hand and then sending him crashing to the ground with a punch to the jaw.

The defeated taan lay blinking up at the sky, probably trying to remember who he was and why he was here. His fellow stood over him, weapon poised, just in case his opponent sought to keep fighting, but after a moment, the other taan pointed at the victor in a gesture of defeat.

There was cheering and hissing from the crowd, depending on who had wagered on whom. At a gesture from the shaman, his two apprentices hastened forward to tend to the wounded taan. Sitting up, he shook his head muzzily, and spurned their ministrations with an angry snarl. The winner strutted about, waving his arms and hooting. The loser limped back to the circle, where he refused to look at or speak to anyone.

Dag-ruk came forward, announced the next contest, and the fighting began again. This time the contest was between seasoned warriors. The two were evenly matched, wielding curved swords with serrated edges and carrying another strange looking device—two long sticks covered over with leather fastened together in such a way that they formed an X. Raven was intrigued to see that the taan used this as a human swordsman would use a shield in battle,
holding the X in one hand, turning it this way and that to deflect blows and to try to trap an opponent's sword in the cross-bars.

Raven's admiration for these warriors increased. Caught up in the excitement, he forgot himself and at one point shouted, “Well struck! Well struck!” Some of the taan heard him and turned to stare. One of the human slaves cast him a glance of pure loathing. He knew he should be ashamed of himself, but a good hit was a good hit, no matter who swung the sword.

The fight looked as if it might go on all day and into the night, for neither opponent was making much headway. Both scored hits that drew blood. Neither was weakening and eventually Dag-ruk stepped in and halted the contest. She pronounced a winner by pointing at one of the taan. Raven approved her decision, but the loser did not take it well. The loser stomped her feet on the ground, threw down her shield and her sword and kicked dirt in the general direction of the huntmaster.

The taan went suddenly quiet. Dag-ruk stared hard at the loser, then very slowly and deliberately reached out to the victor, who handed over his sword and his shield to her. The huntmaster faced the loser. The warrior seemed at first prepared to accept the challenge, but then her anger cooled and logic prevailed. She cast a glance at Dag-ruk from beneath lowered lids, then raised her hand and pointed at the victor, though she would not look at him. Turning on her heel, the losing taan stalked back to her tent, disappeared inside.

Dag-ruk and the shaman R'lt exchanged glances. Several of the warriors looked severe, some of the taskers hissed. Raven guessed that the losing taan had forfeited more than the battle. She had lost her people's respect.

Raven tensed again. Like an old war horse, he was excited by the battle, by the smell of blood, the sounds of clashing steel. He felt himself ready for combat and hoped that he might be next. He was rewarded, for Dag-ruk said something to Qu-tok, who looked Raven's direction.

Raven hoped that Qu-tok himself would come to fetch his prisoner and they could settle matters between them then and there.
Such menial duties as fetching a slave were beneath the dignity of a warrior. Qu-tok sent two tasker taan, both of them large males, to bring Raven.

The taskers removed the chain that attached Raven to the stake. They freed him of the iron collar around his neck, but left the manacles on his wrists, attaching the manacles with a length of heavy chain. They clamped manacles around his ankles and hobbled his feet together with another chain. Then they led him forward, moving awkwardly and slowly in his bonds, toward the circle of dead grass.

The other taan laughed and jeered derisively—at least that's how he translated the grotesque sounds they were making. He ignored them, kept his gaze fixed on Qu-tok, who remained some distance from the ring, standing with the other warriors near their huntmaster. The young warriors, those who wore no armor, clambered for his attention, shouting, jostling and shoving one another. A grinning Qu-tok looked them over, finally chose one. The young warrior gave a whoop, while his comrades looked glum and backed off.

The taan taskers shoved Raven into the circle of dead grass. Glancing around for Dag-ruk, Raven lifted up his manacled hands and gave the chains a shake, asking in dumb show that his bonds be removed. The huntmaster grinned and shook her head. The other taan found this amusing, for their chortling sounds grew raucous. A couple of the children tossed clods of dirt at him.

Raven looked in appeal to Dur-zor, but she only shook her head. There was nothing anyone could do. This was his idea. He had to play by their rules.

Grimly, Raven planted his feet and waited for his opponent. The chains were a liability, no doubt about it. But they could also be used as a weapon. He wondered if the taan were so stupid that they had not thought of that. Another glance at Qu-tok told Raven that the taan might have many faults, but stupidity wasn't one of them. Qu-tok's lips parted in a grin. Dag-ruk nodded, her eyes on Raven. Several other warriors spoke, perhaps making wagers, for Qu-tok nodded in agreement.

The young taan entered the ring. He was tall and stringy, all bone and muscle and tendon. His hide had some scarring, but not nearly as much as the elder warriors. He wore no armor and had only a few stones lodged beneath his flesh. The young taan looked smug, apparently thinking that this would be an easy fight. The huntmaster raised her voice, as she had done in the other contests, announcing the rules.

Raven shook his head to indicate he didn't understand. The huntmaster said something to Qu-tok, who found Dur-zor in the crowd and sent her forward with a gesture of his hand.

Dur-zor came to stand beside Raven, translated.

“The Kutryx has issued the rules of the contest. Lf'kk may not slay you, for you are the property of Qu-tok. If Lf'kk does accidentally slay you, he must make good your value to Qu-tok by serving him as a slave himself for a term of one sun cycle. This Lf'kk agrees to. As a slave—a derrhuth—you are not bound by such restrictions. You are free to try to kill Lf'kk.”

Some of the half-taan, who understood Elderspeak, laughed heartily at this ludicrous notion.

“Lf'kk may not use the magic of his stones in the battle,” Dur-zor continued. “That is customary in all kdah-klks.”

Raven had no idea what this meant, but it seemed to be to his advantage, so he said nothing.

The young taan raised his hands and spoke. The crowd grinned and nudged each other.

“Lf'kk says he will fight you with his bare hands,” Dur-zor explained. “He will not ruin one of his weapons by fouling it with the blood of a slave.”

Raven grunted. “What do I get if I win?”

“Your life,” said Dur-zor, looking puzzled.

“That's not good enough. I want something else. Tell Dag-ruk that if I win, I want to fight another battle.”

Dur-zor translated the words to Dag-ruk, who eyed Raven narrowly.

“Tell her,” Raven continued, “that if I win, I want to fight another battle against an opponent of my own choosing. Tell her.”

The huntmaster considered. Qu-tok said something to her, but she ignored him, kept her gaze fixed intently on Raven. At last she spoke.

“Well?” Raven asked impatiently.

“The Kutryx says you amuse her and she agrees. If you defeat Lf'kk, you may fight another battle against the warrior of your choosing.”

“That is all I ask,” said Raven.

He cast a final glance at Qu-tok, then forced himself to settle down, to concentrate on this opponent. Raven would have to finish this fight quickly, for he couldn't afford to wear himself out. Not before the real fight began.

Lf'kk began to circle around Raven, who slowly shifted to face him, forced to take care that he didn't trip over the chain that bound his ankles. He kept his hands apart, waiting for the taan to make a move, certain now that this youth had underestimated him, would be overeager and careless.

Lf'kk leapt at Raven, hands reaching for his throat. Raven grasped hold of the chain that bound his wrists, formed a loop, and swung it with all his strength. The blow caught the taan in the midriff, knocked the wind out of him and probably broke a couple of ribs.

Lf'kk staggered, went down on one knee, gasping for air. Raven struck a blow at the taan's head with the chain, but the taan wasn't there. Having foreseen Raven's attack, Lf'kk flattened himself on the ground. Raven's chain whistled harmlessly over his head. The taan's strong hands seized Raven by the chain hooked to his ankles, jerked him off his feet.

Raven landed heavily on his back. Lf'kk jumped at him, grappling again for his throat. Raven brought up his knees, kicked Lf'kk in the chest, sent him flying backward to land ignominiously on his ass. Clumsily, Raven regained his feet, watching Lf'kk, who jumped up to face his opponent. The young taan was angry, his eyes blazed. His pride had been wounded by a slave. Lf'kk hurled himself at Raven, hoping to take him down bodily.

Raven side-stepped, not as swiftly as he might have done without
the chains, but he managed to get out of the way. He flung the chain over Lf'kk's head, wrapped it around the taan's neck. Lf'kk reached his hands to the chain, tried to free himself. Raven twisted the chain, slowly strangling the taan. Lf'kk gurgled, choking. His hands tore at the chain, his eyes bulged in his head. The other taan had been cheering, but now they were silent except for a few hissing indrawn breaths. Raven kept twisting the chain. Lf'kk sank to his knees. His face was turning an ugly shade of blue, his tongue protruded from his mouth.

Raven kept twisting the chain. The young taan sank lower and lower. Raven lifted his head, searched for the slave woman who had given him a look of loathing. Her face was bruised, one eye swollen almost shut. She was practically naked, her dress hanging from her body in tatters. Her flesh was scratched and bore marks of the whip. She had been watching dully, but now her eyes met Raven's.