Guardians of the Lost (46 page)

He touched her on the shoulder.

Startled, she whipped around, raising her kep-ker to attack. Her eyes widened in astonishment, then narrowed at the sight of the chain dangling around his neck.

“Dur-zor,” Raven said urgently, “tell me what's happening. Who are these taan? Why are they attacking?”

She turned away to watch the coming battle. She was probably wondering if she should report him or chain him back up. The front ranks of the taan met with a crash of weapons and howls of fury. She glanced back at him.

“There are taan who do not believe in our god Dagnarus. They say that he led us from our homeland and our old gods in order to use us for his own ends. He spills our blood for his gain and at the end he will betray us. These rebels set an ambush for us. They plan to steal our slaves and convert us to their way of thinking.”

“Convert!” Raven repeated, amazed. The taan warriors hacked savagely at each other, taan blood ran freely. “Funny way to convert—”

He halted, sucked in a breath.

“Oh, no, you don't!” he shouted in fury. “He's mine.”

“Raven! Stop!” Dur-zor cried, but he ignored her.

Pushing and shoving his way through the crowd, Raven sent taskers flying, knocked children aside. He paid no heed to the frantic calls of the slaves, who begged him to cut their bonds, cursed him as he ran away. Raven did not see the enormous Vrykyl standing on the top of the ridge, looking down on the battle. Raven had one objective. He heard nothing else, he saw nothing else. Nothing else mattered.

Nothing except fear that an enemy taan was going to slay Qu-tok.

Qu-tok faced off against another veteran warrior, a taan who had more scar tissue than flesh. Both warriors used the tum-olt, a gigantic two-handed sword with a serrated blade that was most effective in slashing open a taan's thick hide. The combatants met with a crash and howls. The sharp-toothed blades locked together. Fighting with the tum-olt is a test of strength, as well as skill. The combatants struggled, each trying to rip the sword out of the other's hand.

Digging their heels into the ground, Qu-tok and his opponent heaved and shoved. The enemy taan kicked at Qu-tok's knee, trying to unbalance him, but Qu-tok knew that trick and he used the enemy's move against him, almost upsetting him. The enemy taan was quick and agile. He managed to regain his feet and keep his hold on the sword at the same time.

No other taan interfered in this contest. Taan fight one-on-one at the start of a battle, each taan selecting his opponent. The winner is free to find another enemy or to assist a fellow taan if he is in trouble.

Raven ran across the battlefield, ducking and dodging, intent upon Qu-tok. The taan paid little attention to him. He was a slave, after all.

Raven reached the combatants. Qu-tok, grunting and groaning, shoved against his opponent's sword. The other taan struggled against Qu-tok. Their blades locked tight, sharp teeth biting into each other. Muscles bulged. Their feet churned up the earth. Blood streamed down Qu-tok's right arm. The other taan had gashed knuckles. The first taan who broke would die.

Grabbing hold of the chain in both hands, Raven began to whirl it around and around, then hurled the chain with all his strength at the struggling taan. The chain wrapped around their locked sword blades. With a single jerk, Raven wrenched both swords out of the hands of the taan.

The expression on Qu-tok's face was almost laughable. The other taan was also taken aback. Both stared, dumb-founded, to see their swords flying up into the air and away. Shrieking insults, swinging the chain, Raven waded into the fray. The two taan stared at him. They looked at each other and then both laughed.

“Derrhuth,” said the enemy taan in disdain.

Reaching out a massive hand, the taan caught hold of the whipping chain that was still attached to the iron collar around Raven's neck. The taan gave it a jerk that dragged Raven off his feet and nearly snapped his spine. He stumbled to his knees. The enemy taan aimed a crushing blow at him. Raven saw his death coming. He couldn't move, the taan had a tight grip on his chain. Raven had failed, but at least he would die with honor…

A staff whistled past Raven's head, so close that it scratched his cheek. The butt of the staff struck the taan in his solar plexus. He doubled over, groaning.

Dur-zor stood protectively over Raven. As the taan fell, she bashed him hard on the head, knocking him to the ground. Another jab from the end of the kep-ker at the base of the skull broke the taan's neck.

Dur-zor grinned in elation. “I am a warrior!” she cried. “And you have hope. Fight your fight. I will watch your back.”

Raven leapt to his feet, turned to face his enemy.

Qu-tok had been waiting for the other taan to dispatch the annoying slave, so that the true battle between equals could be resumed. Astounded beyond measure to see Dur-zor—a lowly creature—step in and slay his opponent, Qu-tok's astonishment mounted swiftly to fury. There would be those among his rivals who would be quick to take advantage of this, those who would say that Qu-tok had been losing his battle and that a half-taan had saved his life. And as if that were not insult enough, now he was being challenged to fight by his own slave. Nothing was more valuable to a taan than his honor and Qu-tok's honor had been besmirched.

Raven saw Qu-tok's eyes flash. Finally, Raven had gained Qu-tok's full attention. Seeing the spittle fly from the taan's gaping mouth and the fury in the taan's eyes, Raven knew that this time Qu-tok meant to kill him.

Snatching his knife from his belt, Qu-tok lunged at Raven, striking for the heart. Raven stood his ground, the heavy chain his only weapon. Swinging the chain, Raven struck Qu-tok's hand, trying to dislodge the knife.

The chain split open the hide on Qu-tok's fingers, but did no other damage. Still gripping the knife in his right hand, Qu-tok reached out his left, thinking to seize hold of Raven by the hair and then slash his throat.

Raven ducked the taan's grab and hurled himself bodily at Qu-tok. The two fell to the ground. Qu-tok landed on his back with a grunt. Raven jumped on top of him. Qu-tok tried to heave the human off him. Raven straddled the taan, locked him with his knees. Clenching his fist, he punched Qu-tok a blow on the jaw that would have killed a human.

Qu-tok did not even blink. Struggling to free himself, he slashed at Raven with the knife.

Raven caught hold of Qu-tok's knife-hand, slammed the taan's fist into the ground. Qu-tok rolled over, landing Raven on his back. Both of them grappled for the knife.

Dur-zor stood above Raven, holding the kep-ker with both hands, wielding it skillfully to ward off interference. At first, no one had paid any attention, but then the sharp-eyed Dag-ruk noticed what was going on. She shouted and surged forward to kill the rebellious slave.

Dur-zor cracked the huntmaster on the arm. Dag-ruk snarled in rage and advanced on Dur-zor, who proudly clutched the kep-ker and waited to die.

A voice rang out across the battlefield, a voice that was cold and deep and dark as a well of darkness.

“Intiki!”

The command brought the battle to a standstill. All taan from both sides halted in mid stroke, looked up in fearful respect. The taan Vrykyl stood atop the hill, his hand raised in command.

“Intiki!” he shouted again.

Two alone did not obey him. Raven did not hear the Vrykyl's call and would not have understood it if he had. Qu-tok heard, but he was too consumed with rage to listen.

The terrible eyes of the Vrykyl fell on Dur-zor. She dropped her staff and prostrated herself on the ground. Dag-ruk, standing beside the half-taan, did the same.

Behind them, Qu-tok and Raven rolled and grunted and kicked, bit and flailed and snarled and struggled for the knife.

“Intiki!” the Vrykyl roared again. “Let them fight!”

The taan lowered their weapons, but did not sheathe them, each taan watching his enemy warily, even as they looked to see what battle had drawn the Vrykyl's attention.

The slaves tried to see, but the taan were massed so thickly around the combatants that they could catch only glimpses. One gave a cheer, but the others immediately shushed him, not wanting to draw attention to themselves.

Raven knew nothing of any of this. His body was smeared with blood, his shoulder slashed open to the bone. His fingers were mangled. His arms were covered with welts from the chain and scratches from Qu-tok's talons. Raven felt no pain. All he could feel was the living flesh and bone and sinew of his enemy beneath his hands.

During their vicious struggles, the long chain wound around both warriors, binding them in links of iron. The chain wrapped around their legs and tangled their arms. Their flailings carried them over the ground. The watching taan backed up hastily to give them room. Raven spotted a large rock half-buried in the ground. He seized hold of Qu-tok's hand, that still clung to the knife, and brought the taan's hand down hard on the rock.

The knife flew from Qu-tok's fingers and Raven knew a moment's elation, a moment that ended when Qu-tok's strong hand grasped hold of the rock and wrenched it out of the ground. Wielding the rock, Qu-tok aimed a blow at Raven's head. The chain impeded his movements. He could not put much momentum behind the blow or aim it very well. Raven took the blow on the fleshy part of his upper arm.

Qu-tok brought his arm back for another strike and it was then Raven saw his chance. Qu-tok had left himself wide open. There was only one problem. Raven could not position himself and duck the next blow. He would have to take it. Seizing hold of the chain in both hands, Raven formed a loop in the chain, looped the chain around Qu-tok's neck.

Teeth grinding in fury, Qu-tok struck Raven with the rock.

Pain splintered through Raven's head, starbursts flared in the black night that began to fall over his eyes. He reeled from the blow and fought with all his being to retain his hold both on consciousness and on the chain.

Fortunately, Qu-tok had not been able to put his full muscle behind the blow. If he had, the taan would have smashed Raven's skull like a zarg nut. As it was, Raven's head throbbed, blood streamed into his left eye, but he did not lose consciousness. He was able to think and to act. Holding the loop of chain in each hand, using his last ounce of strength, Raven wrapped the chain around Qu-tok's throat and gave it a sharp yank.

Bone crackled beneath the chain. Qu-tok's eyes bulged; he gargled, choking on his own blood. Dropping the rock, he tried frantically to free himself of the chain that was crushing his windpipe. Raven continued to pull. He kept his eyes on the eyes of the dying taan and when he saw the light start to fade, he pulled harder.

“Die, damn you!” he said over and over. “Die!”

Blood drooled from Qu-tok's mouth. His heels drummed on the earth. The taan's body stiffened and then went limp. Qu-tok ceased to struggle. His eyes rolled back in his head. His arms and legs twitched and then he was still.

Not trusting him, Raven continued to pull on the chain.

“It is finished,” said Dur-zor.

Raven didn't hear her. He let loose of the chain only because he was too weak to hold it any longer. The battle rage drained from him and Raven felt the pain he had not felt during the battle.

He didn't care. He would die soon. The other taan would kill him. He was only surprised they hadn't done so already and then it occurred to him that they were probably waiting to torture him to death for this crime.

He shrugged. Only one thing mattered to him at this moment. Raising his bloody hands into the air, Raven reared back his head and gave a Trevenici victory yell—the howl of a coyote over a kill.

Raven had never before known such elation, such satisfaction. His howl died away. His shoulders sagged. He slumped over the body of his dead foe and then toppled sideways, unconscious.

D
ur-zor dropped her kep-ker and bent over Raven. Placing her finger to his neck, she checked for the pulse, then looked up and announced proudly, “The beat is strong. He lives.”

The taan looked at each other, then looked at the Vrykyl. No one was sure what to do. The taan warriors applauded Raven's courage and tenacity. They were impressed with the kill. But he was a slave, a slave who had dared raise hands against his master and, no matter how courageous, he must be punished. Normally the taan would have tortured him for days, as an example to other slaves, before they finally allowed him to die. After that, they would have done him the honor of eating his flesh, even fought over who got to devour his heart. Now the taan looked to the Vrykyl, grateful to him for having provided them with this show, but uncertain how he wanted them to proceed.

The Vrykyl's name was K'let, the most powerful of the taan Vrykyl, and the most revered. K'let left his hilltop. Accompanied by his bodyguards—immense taan, accoutered in rich armor—the Vrykyl walked among the taan, who parted at his coming. Many of his followers reached out to touch him as he passed. The Vrykyl's
bodyguard was in truth an honor guard, for no taan, not even his enemies, would dare harm him, nor was it likely any taan could. The taan of Dag-ruk's tribe drew back as he approached, watching K'let with respect, but also distrust.

K'let stood over Raven, looked down upon the unconscious, bloodsmeared human, who still wore the iron collar of a slave. His chain was now anchored to a corpse.

“This human has the heart of a taan,” K'let announced and the other taan clicked their tongues against the roofs of their mouth in agreement. “He is strong food,” K'let continued. “I myself would be honored to dine on his flesh.”

The other taan concurred, some thumping their weapons against the ground or tapping them on their breastplates.

“I have known only one other human this strong,” K'let said. “Dagnarus.”

The taan who followed K'let grinned at each other. The taan who followed Dag-ruk fell silent, stood frowning. Dagnarus was not a human. He was a god who, for some strange reason, chose to take human form.

“Yes, I say Dagnarus is human,” said K'let. He wore a dark helm that was the face of a ferocious, grimacing taan frozen in black metal, and he turned that fearsome visage to stare at the warriors of Dag-ruk's tribe. “I know that he is human. I was with him from the beginning. This is what I was then.”

The Vrykyl armor dissolved. In its place stood a taan. He was tall and muscular, his body was covered with the scars of many battles. His hide was not the brown color of the hides of the other taan. K'let's hide was white. His hair was white, his eyes were brilliant red. None of the taan were surprised by this transformation. They all knew K'let's story, for his story was their god's story. Taan loved this tale, however, and had no objection to hearing it again.

“I was born with white skin, a shame to my parents. The tribe shunned me, threatened many times to cast me out. Then Dagnarus came among us. He was a human, but he was powerful. The most powerful human any of us had ever known. He fought and killed the nizam of our tribe. We did him honor and said that he would be our
nizam. Dagnarus refused. He announced he would hold a contest to choose a new nizam. In those days, we fought to the death for the right to be leader. Not like these days, when the taan have grown weak.”

K'let glared around, his eyes flaring. Some of the taan lowered their heads, but others—Dag-ruk among them—faced him defiantly.

“I went to Dagnarus,” K'let continued. “I honored him then as did all the rest of the taan. I told him that I would take him for my god if he would grant me the strength to win the contest. He agreed, providing that I would agree to surrender my life to him any time he chose. I made the bargain. I won the contest. I defeated the other taan. I accepted Dagnarus as my god. I walked at his side as we traveled through our land, converting other tribes of taan to his worship. I fought at his side to prove our worth to the nizam of these other tribes. I helped convince the taan to choose Dagnarus as their god. I came with him to his world, to fight his battles. When he called upon me to fulfill my promise, I gave Dagnarus my life. He made me a Vrykyl.

“It was then, when the Void had taken me, that I saw Dagnarus for what he truly is. A human. A powerful human, a human who has been chosen by the Void, but a human all the same. In that moment, I knew myself to be more powerful than Dagnarus and in that moment, I knew he was not a god.”

His followers lifted their voices, cried out K'let's name. Some of Dag-ruk's people looked uncertain and cast side-long glances at each other. Dag-ruk glowered around at them, said something to the shaman, R'lt, who lowered his eyes and shook his head. Dag-ruk looked troubled.

“Through the magic of the blood knife, Dagnarus felt my doubt,” K'let continued. “He intended to prove to me that he was my master. He would make me see that I had no choice but to obey him, for he bound me to him by the Dagger of the Vrykyl. He ordered me to kill my mate, Y'ftil, and to feast upon her soul, depriving her of the chance to fight the final battle of the Gods War. The knife was in my hand. I saw my hand lift, I saw my feet carry my unwilling body toward Y'ftil. Dagnarus's will forced me on. My
will fought against him in a struggle very much like the one we have witnessed this day, for we, too, were chained together, except that our chains were forged of the Void.

“I won,” said K'let and his voice resounded in the sudden silence. “I defeated Dagnarus. I took the knife that he would have made me use on Y'ftil and I plunged it into the throat of one of his shaman. Then it was that I knelt before Dagnarus and I swore to him an oath of loyalty, not because I was forced to swear, but because I believed in his cause. I swore to follow him, so long as he treated the taan with honor. He promised me that he would give the taan this fat world with its forests and plentiful water to be our world. He promised me that we would feast on its people and have many slaves. He promised me the wealth of this world, its steel and its silver and its gold, its jewels to put into our bodies to give us strength.”

K'let paused. The taan murmured agreement. All knew that Dagnarus had made such promises.

“One by one,” K'let said, his voice quivering with anger, “Dagnarus broke his promises.”

K'let jabbed a finger at the slaves. “Are you permitted to keep these strong slaves for your own use? No, you are not. You must give them to Dagnarus.” He jabbed another finger at Dur-zor, who shrank back from him. “Are you permitted to destroy these abominations? No, we are forced to tolerate their kind among us. Are you permitted to fight to the death to choose your leaders? No, your leaders are now chosen for you. Are we permitted to worship the old gods, the gods who brought the taan to the world and gave us life? No, we are told that those gods are false gods and that this human is the only god. Are we permitted to return to our homeland? No, we are not. The Portal that would take us back to our world is guarded day and night. Those taan who try to re-enter it are put to death.

“Has Dagnarus kept his promise and given us this land for our own? No, we must fight yet another battle for him and yet another battle after that.”

Dag-ruk stirred and then raised her voice defiantly, “Does Dagnarus care for the taan? Yes, he does!”

“No, he does not!” K'let thundered. “And I will prove it to you. He sent some of our people south to a land called Karnu, there to battle humans and seize a magical Portal. Our numbers were small, for Dagnarus told us that these humans were weak and that they would run before us like panicked rabbits. That was a lie. These humans proved to be strong like this one.” He pointed at the unconscious Raven. “They had hearts like taan and fought like taan. We died on the field of battle and still we could not prevail against them. Our leaders went to Dagnarus and told him that the taan could defeat these humans, but only if he sent us more troops.

“His answer was no.”

A silence fell that was thick, profound. The taan did not move, but stood rigid, staring.

“Dagnarus refused to send reinforcements. He said that he needed the troops for a more important battle, a battle in the land of the gdsr.”

The taan scowled. The “gdsr” were elves, a people known to be weaker than humans, a people of no value whatsoever. If the taan capture an elf, they pull off his arms and legs, like an insect.

“Dagnarus said that our taan in the human land were on their own, must fend for themselves. They must stay and fight and either conquer or die.”

Dag-ruk kept her unwavering gaze fixed on the Vrykyl, but all could see that doubt was upon her. R'lt, the shaman, began talking to her, whispering in her ear.

“It was then I told Dagnarus that if he was not loyal to the taan, I did not consider myself bound to be loyal to him. He laughed at me and said that I had no choice. I had defied him once, but he was stronger now. I dare not defy him again. He would destroy me.”

K'let spread his arms. He raised his voice to the heavens and shouted, “Iltshuzz, god of creation, be my witness! I stand here before you unhurt, unharmed. Dagnarus could not carry out his threat. He tried, but I was too powerful. I turned from him and left him. Now I fight my own war in this land. I fight a war to free the taan. I fight to return the taan to the worship of the old gods. I fight a war against this human who dares to claim that he is a god.”

“If you are so powerful, K'let,” Dag-ruk said, shoving aside the warding hand of the shaman, “why did you not slay Dagnarus?”

K'let lowered his arms. He shifted his gaze from the heavens back to Dag-ruk. “A fair question, warrior. I can see why you are huntmaster.”

Dag-ruk gave an abrupt nod to acknowledge this, but she was not to be ignored.

“Your answer?” she said insistently, if respectfully.

“Dagnarus is not a god. He is human, he is mortal, but he has many lives, lives piled on top of lives. Every life he takes through the power of the Dagger of the Vrykyl increases the span of his mortality. I could not kill him once. I would have to kill him many times over. He fears me. He keeps himself constantly surrounded by other Vrykyl, those who are still bound to him. I am the only one thus far who has managed to break away from his control. My time is not yet. It is coming, but it is not now.”

Dag-ruk thought this over, made no comment one way or the other.

K'let abandoned the illusion of himself as he had been. Once more, he stood before them in his black armor. A powerful force, he looked around at his people. “It is wrong for us to kill each other. The blood of many fine warriors has been spilled in this battle and I am sorry for that. I am pleased I had this chance to speak to you. I ask you to put down your weapons and join me. For a time, we must continue to remain in this land, but I vow to you that the day will come when I will lead us back to our home. Back to the land you never knew, back to the true gods. Those who are willing to swear an oath of allegiance to me lay down their arms. Show your loyalty by handing over your slaves and by killing the abominations, those known as half-taan. If you choose not to join me, we will fight you in fair battle. I give you time to spend with your huntmaster to consider what you will do.”

K'let turned back to look at Raven, who was starting to stir. “As for this human, I am pleased with him. I will take him as a member of my bodyguard. He is to be treated with all honor. You”—he motioned to Dur-zor—“tell him what I have said.”

Dur-zor knelt down beside Raven, helped him to sit up. He blinked, trying to see what was going on. One eye was gummed by dried blood and the other was swelling and starting to turn purple.

“I'm not dead,” he said thickly, leaning weakly against her.

“No, you are not. You have been greatly honored,” said Dur-zor and told him of K'let's command.

“Huh?” Raven had trouble understanding. “Who is K'let?”

Gritting his teeth against the pain the movement caused him, Raven looked up at the Vrykyl. The image took him back to the hideous black armor, that nightmare ride.

“No!” Raven cried, shuddering with horror. “No! I won't.”

“You do not know what you're saying!” Dur-zor pleaded with him, aware of K'let watching them intently. “You must do this or he will slay you. Your death will be a terrible one, for your refusal will be an insult to him.”

“I would rather die!” Raven mumbled through bruised and bloody lips.

“Would you?” Dur-zor asked, smiling, though her lips trembled. As one of the abominations, she knew her own death was not far off. “You did not fight Qu-tok like a man who wants to die. You fought to live.”

“I fought to kill,” said Raven. “There's a difference.”

“And it was K'let who gave you the chance,” said Dur-zor. “Do you think Qu-tok's fellow warriors would have permitted a slave to fight him in honorable contest? They were ready to kill you, but K'let ordered them to let you fight.”

“He did?” Raven looked up at the Vrykyl. Unable to stand the sight of the grotesque creature, he hastily averted his eyes.

“You owe him Qu-tok's death,” said Dur-zor. “Sit up so that I can see your shoulder wound.”

Raven groaned. His head hurt. His shoulder was on fire. One of the taan shamans, after a glance at K'let, came forward and held out something in his hand to Raven.

“What's that?” Raven looked at it suspiciously.

“Tree bark,” said Dur-zor. “It will ease your pain.”

Taking some of the bark, Raven put it into his mouth, chewed
down on it. The taste was bitter, but not unpleasant. He tried to clear his thoughts. Dur-zor's logic cut knife-like through the weariness and the pain.
You fought to live
. Apparently he wasn't as ready to die as he'd supposed.