Return of the Crimson Guard (42 page)

The man's colourless brows rose. ‘Fist, is it? Not endorsed, I should think.’

‘You are?’

‘I am Warlord of the Seti tribes. They have seen fit to place their confidence in me.‘ He indicated the bearded shaman in jackal furs. ‘This is Imotan.’ He motioned to the shaman in ferret furs. ‘Hipal.’

Hurl motioned to her flankers. ‘Sunny. Liss.’

At the name Liss the jackal shaman started. Beneath his tall furred hat his craggy brows drew down. ‘Liss? Liss in truth?’

Liss let out a throaty laugh and slapped a wide thigh. ‘He knows the story! I am flattered. Yes that was me, the seductive dancing girl – lithesome Liss! I've never forgotten the vows of your predecessor all those years ago. “Come to me, Liss,” he begged. “Let me be your first! I will love you forever!”’

The shaman's eyes bulged further and further with every word from Liss. His face darkened almost blood-red. ‘Quiet, woman!’ he spluttered. ‘Will you shut up!’ He glared about as if the hilltop were crowded. ‘Have you no honour? No modesty?’

‘Honour? Modesty? But that was the last thing he ever wanted from me.’ She leant aside to Hurl and whispered in mock soft-voice: ‘How he begged me to throw aside all modesty,
then!
And he certainly didn't want my mouth closed,
then’

‘Do tell,’ Hurl managed, torn between horror and falling off her horse from stifling her laughter. At her other side Sunny's evil grin was as wide as Hurl had ever seen it.

‘I, ah, take it the two of you require no introduction,’ the warlord offered – showing astounding tact, Hurl thought.

‘None at all,’ Liss answered before anyone could speak again. ‘Let me tell you a story. Long ago I was a young Seeress of the White Sand tribe, the youngest and most gifted in ages. And I was a Sun Dancer, too. Perhaps that was when I caught the eye of a certain youth selected to become a shaman of the feared man-jackal? So long ago, wasn't it, Imotan? But at that time I was too young for wooing and marked as sacred as well, a spirit vessel. But what is that to those who think themselves entitled to anything, eh? What did your predecessor long ago care that by seducing me he destroyed my potential as Sun Dancer? I, who called the sun back to the plains at the year's turn, who interceded for the blessing of rain? Never mind the evil of rape that marked my body and my spirit! Do you remember the vow I swore when it was
I
who was thrown
from the tribe, not
he?
Do you not know the story, Imotan … ?’

Both shamans now gaped at the old woman. ‘Surely,’ Hipal sneered, ‘you are not standing by that wild claim! Vessel of Baya-Gul! Patroness to Seers and guide of our Sun Mysteries?’

‘I am she.’

Imotan waved to his warlord. ‘I do not know who this poor deluded old woman is, Warlord. Ignore her ravings. There is a story among our people of such a young woman named Liss from long ago and this may even be she, but all that has nothing to do with our business here today.’

The warlord's frown told Hurl that he was not so certain. ‘What is this vow?’

‘It is nothing, Warlord. Just a legend this witch attempts to exploit.’

‘I have heard the name Liss before. But not this vow.’

‘Warlord, she is only trying to—’

‘The vow!’

Hipal bared his sharp teeth, dismissed Liss with a wave. ‘The legend is that the original Liss was exiled as a seductress and disturber of tribal accord. Upon leaving she vowed that the Seti people would wander lost for ever without knowing their true path and that they would never find it again until they welcomed her back into their hearth circles. And,’ Hipal spat, ‘until they begged for her forgiveness.’

Both shamans eyed Liss as if ready to strike her that very moment. Imotan's hands were white upon his reins. ‘Some,’ he ground out, ‘name that Liss's Vow. Others, however, call it Liss's Curse.’

The warlord nodded his understanding. The leather of his saddle creaked as he leaned forward to rest an elbow on the high pommel. ‘So, the story circulated will be that this uprising is just one more wrong path. One more errant turn doomed to fail.’

Liss blew Imotan a kiss.

The warlord offered Hurl a short bow. ‘I see. My compliments to your commander, Hurl. I am sorry to say that I suspect we will be seeing much more of each other. Until then,’ and he gave the old Malazan salute instituted by the emperor, an open hand to the chest. The two shamans merely yanked their mounts around without a word.

Leaving the hilltop, Hurl caught sight of a knot of outlanders among the Seti escort, and among them sat the slim straight figure of Captain Harmin Els D'Shil. The man sent them an ironic salute. Hurl nudged Sunny. ‘Look, there's our old friend, Smiley.’

Sunny waved, leering. ‘He's mine.’

D'Shil offered a courtier's horseback bow.

The ride the rest of the way back was quiet. Hurl concentrated on not giving her mount one chance for mischief. She had a boatload of questions for Liss, of course, should she dare. First, though, she'd have to run all she'd just heard past Silk.

‘So what did you think of our warlord?’ Liss asked of Hurl.

‘I'm impressed – unfortunately. I was hoping for someone less competent-seeming.’

Liss nodded her agreement, her broad mouth widening in a smile. They said he had something of Dassem about him, and they're right. I've seen both.’

Hurl eyed the old woman. ‘Who does?’

‘Why, Toc the Elder, of course. Congratulations! Few come away from any meeting with him in such good form.’ Reaching over she slapped Hurl's thigh. ‘You did well, lass.’

Hurl could only share a wondering look with Sunny.
Gods Above!
Toc the Elder. They were going to get handed their own asses. Then, all she could think of was her commander. Poor Storo! To stand opposite Toc! He was gonna take this hard. They might not see him sober till the Wolf Soldiers battered down the doors of the last tavern in the city.

They rode in silence until just short of the closed North Gate of the Plains. Hurl had returned to keeping an eye on her mount just in case it thought she'd forgotten all about its horse-evil, when Sunny cleared his throat.

‘Liss,’ said Sunny, and Hurl knew he was about to ask what she was dying to ask but dared not broach. He was always one to dive straight in. ‘You're not really this whatsit, this Baya-Gul thing, are you?’

The old woman just smiled at Sunny. Aside, to Hurl, she said, ‘Here's a tip, lass. Things only have the power people are willing to give them.’

Hurl frowned over that. Sunny snorted, ‘What a crock of shit.’

Liss just kept smiling. ‘That's because you don't believe.’

* * *

The evening of their sixth day of flight Kyle sat with a thick patch of thorn bush behind him while he ate a raw fish and a handful of mushrooms that the brothers had scavenged during the day's run. Stalker drank from a skin they'd filled at the stream. Their best meal in days. For his part, Kyle hadn't contributed a thing; it was all he
could do just to keep up. And these fellows were running and scavenging food all at the same time! He shook his head. He'd always prided himself on his endurance and running prowess, but these three put him to shame. Who were they anyway? Brothers, or close cousins, perhaps. But who were they in truth?

He picked scales from his mouth and stretched his burning legs to stop them from seizing, then he turned his thoughts to the real question plaguing him. Why were they still alive? If these Crimson Guard Avowed were so fearsome why hadn't they caught them already? Or simply murdered them one night as easily as he, Kyle, might swat insects?

Stalker tossed Kyle the waterskin which he caught in one hand. ‘How you feelin'?’

‘Worn out. You fellows set an awful pace.’

The scout grunted. ‘Well, you let me know how you're holdin’ up. I'll rein in the boys even more if need be.’

Even more?
By the Ancestors, Kyle knew that only the best runners of his tribe could have accomplished what they had managed in the last five days. Still, and he relaxed back to flexing his legs, what did distance matter when those hunting had access to the Warrens? He watched while the rangy, sandy-haired scout examined the bottom of one moccasin. ‘What does it matter? If they really wanted us, they could have us.’

‘True enough. And they did want you those first few days. But like Mara said, you had protection. Anyway, by now I figure they're long gone.’

The fish slipped from Kyle's grasp. ‘Gone? You mean they've left? Where?’

‘Quon, o’ course. The invasion. They were organizing the departure when me ‘n’ the boys volunteered to track you down.’ The scout gave his wolfish smile. ‘Sorry to be the one to give you the bad news, lad, but I guess you're just not that important, hey?’

Kyle gaped, appalled. ‘Then why in the Dark Hunter's name have we been killing ourselves running halfway across Stratem!’

‘Well. Better safe than sorry, eh?’

‘I don't blasted believe it!’ Kyle fought to open the waterskin.

‘Hey now! Don't be upset. Things are looking up. Remember I said you had protection, right?’

‘Yes – what was that about?’

Stalker raised his chin aside. ‘Well, let's see if they're willing to talk now.’

Badlands came pushing through branches and brush. With him
was an old woman, squat and bandylegged, her face the hue of ironwood. She wore pale leathers decorated with fur edging, feather tufts and shells. The soft jangling of the shells accompanied her walk and Kyle did not wonder how she could move silent through the woods for he recognized her – his own tribe had its shamans, male and female, healers, priests and even warleaders. He stood to meet her.

Badlands nodded to Stalker. ‘This is Janbahashur – as least, that's the best I can manage/ To her he said, ‘Stalker, Kyle.’

They bowed. Her smile was wide and showed large white teeth. Kyle was struck by the broad ridges above her deep brown eyes. It was as if she was watching them from within a cave. ‘Thank you for your protection,’ he said.

She laughed. ‘We only helped a little,’ she said in Talian. ‘You did most.’ Kyle was deeply puzzled by that but he bowed just the same. ‘You travel west,’ she said. ‘We will help.’

Badlands and Stalker exchanged glances. ‘How so?’ the scout asked. It seemed to Kyle that Stalker had wanted to ask another question,
why?
but that good manners stopped him.

‘We shall open a way. You cross through. Travel west.’

‘A Warren?’

Janbahashur raised her brows, smiling. ‘A way, a path, call it what you will.’

Neither of the soldiers spoke, obviously reluctant. Kyle wondered if it was up to him to say something. He decided not to be so well-mannered. ‘Why? Why help us – me?’

The old woman's eyes glittered with hidden knowledge and humour. ‘You could say it was whispered to us in the wind.’

Wind.
There it was. Kyle stared, daring the woman to say more, but her gaze remained calm and steady and he was forced to look away. ‘Very well. We'll go.’

Stalker nodded at Kyle's acceptance. ‘OK. When and where?’

‘Not here. Follow me. It is not far.’

As they walked Janbahashur fell into step next to Kyle. Her soft hide moccasins made no sound as she stepped over fallen branches and patches of moss. She directed them upslope and soon bare lichen-stained rock mounded around them. Dead fallen oak and spruce made the going slow.

‘Your people are like us, I think,’ she said to Kyle. ‘You live on the land, yes?’

‘Yes. And we worship it, and the sun, the rain – and wind.’

She smiled again. ‘Yes. Wind. Many people worship it. To some it
is merely a route to power – a tool to be used. But to us it is life.’ She breathed in expansively, exhaled in a gust. ‘Every living thing takes it in. Even the trees. It is part of all of us, intermingling. For us it is really a symbol for that most unknowable of things, the life essence.’