Hero in the Shadows (10 page)

Standing quietly in the firelight was the little gray-garbed swordsman.

Yu Yu’s heart skipped a beat. He leapt backward, his heel landing in the fire. He swore and jumped forward, then scrabbled for the sword, yanking it from the ground and waving it furiously back and forth while shouting a battle cry. The cry would have been more impressive, he realized, had it not burst forth in a shrill falsetto.

The
Rajnee
stood very still, watching him. He had not drawn his sword. Yu Yu, still holding his sword aloft, glared at him. “I am Yu Yu Liang,” he began, this time in Chiatze.

“Yes, I heard,” said the swordsman. “Are you left-handed?”

“Left-handed?” echoed Yu Yu, bemused. “No, I am not left-handed.”

“Then you are holding the sword incorrectly,” observed the
Rajnee
. Moving past Yu Yu, he glanced toward the south.

“Are you going to fight me?” Yu Yu asked him.

“Do you wish me to?”

“Isn’t that why you came here?”

“No. I came to see if the robbers were planning another attack. Obviously they are not. Where did you find the sword?”

“It has been in my family for generations,” said Yu Yu.

“May I see it?”

Yu Yu was about to hand it to the man. Then he jumped back again, slashing it through the empty air. “You seek to trick me?” he shouted. “Very clever!”

The
Rajnee
shook his head. “I am not trying to trick you,” he said quietly. “Farewell.”

As he turned away, Yu Yu called out after him. “Wait!” The
Rajnee
halted and glanced back.

“I found it after a battle,” he said. “So I took it. The owner didn’t care. Most of his head was missing.”

“You are a long way from home, Yu Yu Liang. Is it your ambition to be a robber?”

“No! I want to be a hero. A great fighter. I want to strut through the market towns and hear people say: ‘There he is. That’s—’ ”

“Yes, yes,” said the
Rajnee
. “Yu Yu Liang. Well, all journeys begin with a single step, and at least you have mastered the strutting. Now I suggest you follow me.” With that he walked away.

Yu Yu sheathed his sword and looped the baldric over his shoulder. Then, grabbing the carry sack containing his meager possessions, he ran to catch up with the departing
Rajnee
.

The man said nothing at first, as Yu Yu marched along beside him, but after walking for almost an hour, the
Rajnee
paused. “Beyond those trees is the camp of my master, the merchant Matze Chai.” Yu Yu nodded sagely and waited. “Should anyone recognize you, what will you tell them?”

Yu Yu thought about that for a moment. “That I am your pupil and you are teaching me to be a great hero.”

“Are you an imbecile?”

“No, I am a ditchdigger.”

The
Rajnee
turned toward him and sighed. “Why did you come to this land?” he asked.

Yu Yu shrugged. “I don’t really know. I was heading west when I found the sword, then I decided to swing northeast.”

Yu Yu felt uncomfortable under the man’s dark gaze, and the silence grew. “Well,” Yu Yu said at last, “what are you thinking?”

“We will talk in the morning,” said Kysumu. “There is much to consider.”

“Then I am your pupil?”

“You are
not
my pupil,” said Kysumu. “If you are recognized, you will tell the truth. You will say that you are not a robber and that you were merely traveling with them.”

“Why was I traveling with them?”

“What?”

“If they ask.”

The
Rajnee
took a deep breath. “Just tell them about your desire to strut.” Then he strode away toward the campfires.

4

T
HE FIRST OF
the outlaws drifted back to the fading campfire, moving in warily, terrified that the gray-robed Rajnee would be hiding somewhere close by, ready to leap out and rip their lives from them with his wickedly curved sword. They had seen Rukar’s body opened from shoulder to belly, his entrails spilling out, and had no wish to share his grisly fate.

Satisfied that the swordsman had gone, one of the men gathered up some dead wood, throwing it onto the fire. Flames licked out, the light spreading.

“What happened to Yu Yu?” said another man, searching the ground for signs of a struggle.

“He must have run,” said another. “There’s no blood.”

Within an hour nine men had gathered around the fire. Three were still hiding out on the plain. It was growing colder, and a fine mist had begun to seep across the land, swirling like pale smoke.

“Where did you hide, Kym?” someone asked.

“There are some ruined walls. I lay down behind one.”

“Me, too,” said another. “Must have been a big settlement here once.”

“It was a city,” said Kym, a small man with sandy hair and buckteeth. “I remember my grandfather used to tell stories about it, great stories. Monsters and demons. Wonderful stuff. Me and my brother used to lie in bed and listen to them. We’d be terrified.” The man laughed. “Then we wouldn’t be
able to sleep, and our mother would start shouting at Grandfather for scaring us. Then, the following night, we’d beg him to tell us more.”

“So what was this place, then?” asked Bragi, a stoop-shouldered figure with thinning black hair.

“It was called Guanador, I think,” said Kym. “Grandfather said there was a great war and the entire city was destroyed.”

“So where did the monsters come in?” put in another man.

Kym shrugged. “There were magickers, and they had great black hounds with teeth of sharpened iron. Then there were the man-bears, eight feet tall with talons like sabers.”

“How come they got beat, then?” asked Bragi.

“I don’t know,” said Kym. “It’s only a story.”

“I hate stories like that,” said Bragi. “Don’t make any sense. Who beat ’em, anyway?”

“I don’t know! Wish I’d never mentioned it.”

The mist thickened and edged into the camp. “Man, it’s cold,” said Bragi, taking up a blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders.

“You’re always complaining about something,” said a powerfully built man with a shaved head and a forked beard.

“A pox on you, Canja,” snapped Bragi.

“He’s right, though,” said someone else. “It is damned cold. It’s this mist. Feels like ice.” Rising from the ground, the men sought out more wood, building up the fire. Then they sat, wrapped in their blankets.

“It’s worse than winter,” said Kym.

Moments later the cold was forgotten as a terrible scream echoed in the night. Kym swore and drew his sword. Canja leapt to his feet, dagger in hand, and peered out past the fire. The mist was so thick that he could see no more than a few feet.

“I bet it’s that
Rajnee
,” he said. “He’s out there.”

Canja moved a little way into the mist. Kym was watching him.

A curious noise began. The men looked at one another, then clambered to their feet.

“What the hell is that?” whispered one. It sounded like scratching on the rocky ground just beyond the line of their sight.

The mist was even thicker now, flowing across the fire, causing it to hiss and splutter. Then came a sickening sound, followed by a grunt. Kym swung around to see Canja tottering back toward the fire. Blood was gouting from a huge hole in his chest. His mouth was open, but no sound came forth. Then something white closed around the dying man’s head, wrenching it from the body. Bragi spun on his heel and ran several steps in the opposite direction. A huge white form loomed from the mist, and a taloned arm swept down. Bragi’s face disappeared in a crimson spray. Talons ripped into his belly, hurling him high into the air.

Kym screamed and backed away to the fire, dragging out a blazing brand, which he waved around in front of him. “Get away!” he shouted. “Get away!”

Something cold curled around his ankle. He glanced down to see a white serpent slithering over his boot. He leapt back—straight into the fire. Flames licked around his leggings. The pain was terrible, but even through it he could see huge white forms approaching the blaze on every side.

Dropping the brand, Kym drew his dagger and turned the point toward his throat. Closing his eyes, he rammed it into his jugular.

Something struck him in the back, and he fell from the fire. Gurgling on his lifeblood, he felt sharp teeth rip into his side.

And the mist closed over him.

Kysumu was sitting on the ground, cross-legged, his back against the tree. He was not asleep but in a meditation trance that served to revitalize his tired muscles. It took many minutes to establish the trance, for the snoring of Yu Yu Liang beside
him was a constant irritant, rather like the buzzing of an insect around one’s face on a summer day.

His many years of training served Kysumu well at that moment, for he calmly put aside all thoughts of Yu Yu and honed his concentration. Once it was established, he released it in a blaze of emptiness, holding only to the image of a blue flower, bright and ethereal against a backdrop of endless black space unlit by stars. Slowly—so slowly—he began to mentally recite the mantra of the
Rajnee
. Thirteen words, set in a child’s rhyme:

With each repeated verse Kysumu grew calmer, his mind expanding, feeling the blood flowing through his veins and the tension easing from his body. One hour of this every day and Kysumu had little need of sleep.

Yet tonight something was disturbing his trance. It was not the sleeping Yu Yu or even the growing cold. Kysumu was hardened to extremes of cold and heat. He struggled to hold the trance, but it receded from him. He became aware of the scabbarded sword in his lap. It seemed to be vibrating gently under his fingers.

Kysumu’s dark eyes flicked open. He glanced about the camp. The night had turned very cold, and a mist was seeping through the trees. One of the horses whinnied in fear. Kysumu took a deep breath, then glanced down at his sword. The oval bronze fist guard was glowing. The
Rajnee
placed his slender hand over the leather-wrapped hilt and drew the sword from its black lacquered scabbard. The blade was shining with a bright blue light so powerful that it hurt the eyes to gaze upon
it. Rising to his feet, the swordsman saw that Yu Yu Liang’s stolen sword also was shining.

Suddenly a sentry screamed. Kysumu threw aside his scabbard and ran across the camp, cutting around the back of the supply wagon. No one was there, but the mist was rising now, and Kysumu heard a crunching noise from within it. Dropping into a crouch, he examined the ground. Something wet touched his fingers. By the brilliant light of the sword he saw that it was blood.

“Awake!” he shouted. “Awake!”

Something moved beyond the mist. Kysumu had the merest glimpse of a colossal white figure. Then it disappeared. The mist rolled over his legs. Icy cold touched his skin. Instinctively Kysumu leapt back. His sword slashed down. As it touched the mist, blue lightning rippled through the air, crackling and hissing. A deep, angry growl sounded from close by. Kysumu jumped forward, plunging his sword into the mist. Once more blue lightning sparked, and thunder boomed over the camp.

Another guard yelled from somewhere to the left. Kysumu glanced back to see Yu Yu Liang hacking and slashing at the mist, lightning blazing from his sword. The guard was on the ground, close to the edge of the trees. Something white was wrapped around his foot, dragging him from the camp. Kysumu sprinted across the clearing. The guard was screaming at the top of his voice. As Kysumu reached him, he saw what appeared to be the tail of a great white worm looped around the man’s ankle. He hacked at it, cutting deeply into the albino flesh. Yu Yu Liang appeared alongside him. With a high-pitched cry he slammed his blade into the worm. It released the guard, who scrabbled back to the relative safety of the camp. The worm slid back into the mist.

Yu Yu bellowed a battle cry and gave chase. Kysumu’s left hand snaked out, grabbing the collar of Yu Yu’s wolfskin
jerkin, yanking him back. Yu Yu’s legs shot into the air, and he landed heavily.