Shallows of Night - 02 (28 page)

“All?” echoed Tuolin sardonically. “The Ching Pang wish us destroyed.”

“We wish only for the freedom of the Sha’angh’sei people.”

“And what would they do with this freedom?” Tuolin said contemptuously. “Return to the mud and bamboo hovels of their ancestors?”

“Our ancestors were great once. Greater than your people ever dreamed of becoming.”

Tuolin turned abruptly away and, as if that were a signal, the soldiers surrounding T’ien slashed at him simultaneously and in an instant he was but so much dead meat.

“I do not understand this,” Ronin said to Kiri. “Rikkagin T’ien a Green?”

“What are you talking about?” She glanced at him. “The Rikkagin T’ien comes toward us now.”

“That is Tuolin.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “And Rikkagin T’ien.” She noted the look of puzzlement on his face. “All rikkagin take a second name at the end of their training.”

“Then who was the man Tuolin just had executed?”

“Lei’in, the rikkagin’s chief adviser.” She seemed amused. “And a Ching Pang; Tuolin must be furious.”

Ronin was about to tell her of the ruse T’ien had used on him but thought better of it. He wanted to think it through himself now. He recalled the events aboard the rikkagin’s vessel. He had not been disarmed when he was brought aboard; he had been kept at ease. When they judged him well enough, he had been interviewed by Lei’in masquerading as the rikkagin. He had been tested. Only then had he been allowed abovedecks into Tuolin’s presence. Yes, it made perfect sense now; war breeds its own form of paranoia. It all fitted now, the assassination attempt on the ship, his night out with Tuolin.

The big blond man had seen them now and he seemed unsure whether to scowl or smile, finally opted for a neutral look.

“Did you find the Council of assistance?” he asked Ronin.

“I—never got to see them.” Ronin remembered Kiri’s warning that Tuolin did not know.

“What a pity,” he said without much conviction. He turned to Kiri. “I almost did not recognize you.” He glanced down at the sword scabbarded at her left hip. “Can you actually use that or is it for show?”

“What do you think?” Kiri said.

“I think I prefer to see you at Tenchō,” Tuolin said quite calmly. “I distrust women on the battlefield.”

“Oh, why is that?” She was struggling to control her anger.

“They never seem to know which way to go.”

“I do not understand you at all.”

He shrugged. “There is nothing to understand. Fighting should be left to those who can do it best. End of discussion.”

He turned his attention back to Ronin as if she did not exist. “Why are you here?” He began to walk toward the barracks and they went with him.

“That depends.”

“Oh, on what?”

“On whether you think you can trust me yet.”

Tuolin threw his head back and laughed.

“Yes, I see.” He wiped at his eyes. “I think we can safely say that your time of trial is at an end.”

They went up the wooden steps and into the interior. It was dim and cool. The low ceilings were beamed and dark with smoke residue. The furniture was sparse and utilitarian. In the main room of the first story a fire burned on a large stone hearth.

Tuolin led them through this space, filled with soldiers, into a smaller back room, windowless, with a desk of scarred wood, several hard chairs, and a low cabinet against the back wall. At some time previous, the doors had been removed. The rikkagin sat down behind the desk and reached into the cabinet. He offered them cold wine, which they drank.

Ronin wondered briefly about the rikkagin’s changed attitude toward Kiri, then put it out of his mind.

“Sa was killed, then Matsu, by a creature whom I had fought in my own land. It came north out of Sha’angh’sei. It was waiting for me in the poppy fields half a day’s ride south of here.” He paused. “You do not seem surprised.”

“My friend, many things have transpired since first we met. I have seen many sights, battled foes I could not have dreamed of in my worst nightmares.” He gestured at the walls. “We fight non-men.” He sighed. “Not many here remember the things spawned by the sorcerous wars.”

“I do not think that these creatures are connected with that time.”

Tuolin drained his cup and poured himself more wine without offering them more. He waved the cup. “No matter. These men are not cowards; for most, fighting is all they know. But they are used to foes who bleed when they are cut; give them an enemy that they can see and kill. But this—” The wine sloshed over the cup’s rim and onto the desk. He ignored it. “We are losing this battle.”

Ronin leaned forward. “Tuolin, this creature, the Makkon, is an emissary of The Dolman. Do you remember? I told you—” The rikkagin waved his cup at him. “There are four Makkon and it is imperative that I kill at least one before they can all gather.”

“Why?”

“Because when the four come together they will summon The Dolman and then, I fear, it will be too late for all of us.”

“You have already fought one of these—Makkon?”

“Yes, more than once. But this last time I was able to injure it. With this—” He held up the scaled gauntlet. “Tuolin, it cannot be harmed with ordinary weapons. But this is made of its own hide. I hurt it but it almost killed me.”

The rikkagin ran a hand over his eyes and Ronin became aware of the new lines of fatigue etched into his face.

“The Makkon is likely here then.”

“I must find it,” said Ronin.

“All right.” Tuolin pulled at the ivory bar which pierced one ear lobe. “We must cross to the field encampment. There we will be most likely to find news of your Makkon.”

“I am pleased that you believe me.”

The big man sighed. “I have spent too much time with the dead and dying not to,” he said wearily.

The dusty streets of Kamado were filled with the din of hoarse shouting, the clang of iron against heated iron, the snort and stamp of war horses, the moans of the injured, the tramp of booted feet.

They went out through the southern postern, escorted by soldiers as far as the bridge.

Dark thunderheads were piling up in the northwest, writhing their way rapidly southward. The wind had died and the air was leaden and chill. The moist land steamed whitely.

They moved as swiftly as they could across the wooden planks, hands gripping the rope sides. Ronin peered down into the frothy depths, catching an occasional glimpse of glistening black rocks and sleek leaping fish.

To the south, the land was brown and barren, as if blasted by intense heat. Off to their right, almost due north, lay the encampment with its rows of tents and bright pavilions, lines of tethered horses and bright flickering fires, like silent insects, around which the shadows of the soldiers darted.

The encampment was on the near edge of an undulating meadow of high green grass perhaps a third of a kilometer wide, beyond which began the first low bushes and wide trees of the forest Ronin had seen as they approached the fortress. Now, as they neared the far shore, he could see that the forest was immensely thick, the tree trunks so tall and the numerous branches so heavily foliaged that it appeared to be a solid wall of green.

Soldiers met them as they stepped off the bridge. Tuolin ordered them to take them to Rikkagin Wo’s pavilion. They went into the high grass. Fireflies swept the twilight with minute arcs of cool light. The meadow rustled in the wind and cicadas chirruped. Everything was steeped in deep blue except the far-off forest, cloaked in black shadows, pooling and impenetrable.

The pavilion was striped bright yellow and blue, its canvas walls quiescent now as what little breeze there was died. Lamps were being lit throughout the encampment. Wood smoke and charcoaled meat were the dominant scents which came to them.

Within, it was warm and bright from a multitude of lamps. Shadows danced along the insubstantial walls as soldiers went to and fro, preparing for battle. An almost constant stream of runners came and went, depositing and receiving coded messages on slips of rice paper.

Tuolin led them along a seemingly circuitous path through the disciplined confusion toward a tall man who broke abruptly into their field of vision. He had dark hair which he wore long and loose and a thin pinched mouth. His chin thrust forward. He turned and gazed at Tuolin as they approached.

“Ah, T’ien, has Hui arrived with his troops?”

“Yes, just before sunset.”

“Good. We need every man.”

Rikkagin Wo took a slip of paper from a runner, went a few paces away, nearer a light and farther from them. He read the message, went to his desk, and wrote several characters with his quill. He gave the slip back to the runner, who left.

He turned back to Tuolin. “We lost another patrol this afternoon.”

“Where?”

“Due north. In the forest.”

“How many?”

“Thirteen. Only one came back.” Wo looked disgusted. “And he is no good to us. Raving like a lunatic.”

“What did he say?”

Wo took another message. He did not look up. “I cannot remember. Ask Le’ehu, if you wish. I would not bother myself.”

Tuolin, with Ronin’s urgings, sought out a heavy squat individual with his black hair in a queue, fat cheeks and long glittering eyes.

Le’ehu drew them to the side, against the canvas, where few passed close to them.

“He is gone now, the last soldier.” He paused, his eyes on Ronin and Kiri.

Tuolin patted his arm. “Go on, these two will not pass on what you say.”

“All right, it is just that”—he rubbed at his upper lip, which had begun to sweat—“I killed him, you know, in the end.” The glittery eyes glanced quickly around. “I mean he was dying anyway and he pleaded with me. He could not bear to live another moment, after what he had seen—”

“What attacked the patrol?” asked Ronin.

Le’ehu looked startled. “How—how did you know? How did he know, T’ien?”

“Know what?” asked Tuolin.

“He knew a ‘what’ attacked the patrol.”

“Did the man describe it?” asked the blond man patiently.

“Yes, curse him. I will not sleep this night. It was huge with great claws and a nightmare face. It ripped out their throats, he said.”

“The Makkon,” Ronin said and Tuolin nodded.

“In the forest?”

“Yes.” The man tried to swallow. “Over the meadow’s ridge, perhaps a kilometer into that cursed place—”

They were silent, waiting for him to continue. Le’ehu stared over their shoulders at the fluttering shadows along the far side of the pavilion.

“What else?” Tuolin said very gently.

“It was not of that creature that he talked before he died.” The words came out of him reluctantly now, as if by saying this aloud he might conjure up terrifying creatures. “Something came in that thing’s wake.”

“Another one?” asked Ronin.

Le’ehu’s head snapped around. “Another—? Oh no. No, it was, I do not know, something else. There was whirling fog, he said, and blood raining in the melee. He caught a glimpse only—”

“And,” prompted Tuolin.

Le’ehu swallowed again.

“Rikkagin—he said it was the Hart—”

“Oh, come on,” Tuolin snorted.

“Rikkagin, he bade me kill him,” the squat man said miserably. “I do not think that otherwise—”

“The Hart is but legend, Le’ehu, a foul—”

“What legend?” asked Ronin.

“The tale is told,” said Tuolin, “of the Hart. He is half man and half beast.”

“That is all?”

Tuolin stared at Le’ehu, who winced at his words. “Some say that he is evil incarnate. And others suggest that he was once a whole man, transmogrified, forced now to serve a sorcerous liege, fighting those who are really his kin.”

“Whatever is truth,” said the squat man, “that soldier believed that he saw it”—he turned his head—“out there. In the forest.”

Ronin turned to Tuolin.

“I care not for legends. The Makkon is my only concern. At first light I must go into the wood and destroy it—”

Le’ehu’s eyes bulged. “Surely you must be mad. The Hart—”

“Be silent,” snapped Tuolin. “We are confronted with enough real monstrosities without you fabricating nightmares.” He swung his gaze toward Ronin and his tone softened. “You cannot mean to go alone. I will accompany you.”

Ronin shook his head.

“You will not be able to help. I require two men who know this area. When I find it I will send them away.”

The big man put a hand on his shoulder.

“My friend, I have done many things for you. Fished you out of the sea when you were half dead, introduced you to Tenchō. It is time now to repay me. I want to see this Makkon for myself.” His grip tightened. “I must know the enemy, can you understand that?”

Ronin searched the cerulean eyes and nodded. “Yes, that is something that I can accept.”

Le’ehu stared from one to the other, backing off.

“You are both mad! You—”

A stifled yell. The clash of metal against metal.

They all turned at the sounds. Boots pounded outside and there came now confused shouts.

“Quickly,” Tuolin said. “Outside.”

The heavy darkness of the massive forest seemed to have pervaded the meadow. The fireflies were gone. Above the waving grass now rolled an oncoming tide of black shadows.

They came swiftly and silently, without the telltale gleam of metal. Somehow they had pierced the perimeter of the encampment without an alarm being sounded.

They were like tree trunks, dark, with wide shoulders and thick legs. Their long beards and wiry hair were greased and plaited. Their faces were moonshaped and perfectly flat as if evolution had decreed to their ancestors that the protrusions of nose and cheeks and forehead were superfluous. They seemed more animated creatures from the wall paintings in Kiri’s palace than true men. Yet they were real enough, brandishing wide scimitars of an unreflective metal that was almost black with bell-shaped fist guards.

Behind them loomed other shadows, coalescing slowly in the dark, impossibly tall and bony, their skin pallid gray, their faces desiccated and fleshless, their skulls gleaming in their nakedness. These creatures strode behind their fellow warriors, swinging heavy short chains ending in fanged iron spheres. Ronin caught the sound of their brief hissing arcs in the close air.