Talon (The Astor Chronicles Book 1) (9 page)

Rekala sensed the approach of another horse before I could hear anything. Moments later, a chestnut warhorse thundered through the forest with Arak on its back.

‘Don’t they have anything better to do?’
Rekala grumbled.

We moved out into an open field and the morning mists were suddenly lit through with light, making the ground glow and sparkling dew drops fly off the yellow grasses. Arak and the warhorse emerged from the shadows of the forest behind us, catching up with alarming speed. I squeezed Rekala’s sides with my heels, even though she knew exactly what I was thinking.

A loud clattering came from our right where two horses and a war-carriage careened toward us over the plain. Standing spread-legged on the back were two Zeikas with silver crossbows. The caped driver was smiling with elation. As we crested a small rise, I could see a supply cart in the middle distance with more Zeikas on board. Others were standing around at some kind of camp site, eating breakfast. Some of them looked surprised to see us, but they quickly set down their meals, gathered weapons and moved to intercept us.

‘This is really serious.’
I said, fighting down my panic. The last time I had seen this many Zeikas was a skirmish in the desert a year ago. I had witnessed six of Jaria’s warriors repel a force of twice their number.

Rekala spun to a halt, kicking up a spray of dew. The chestnut warhorse slammed into us, I hit the ground rolling, and pain blazed in my shoulder. Rekala resumed her natural form and ran at one group of horseback enemies.

Gasping for breath, I grabbed for the bow and quiver strapped to my back. It was half-crushed from the fall, making it difficult to get an arrow out. The first two arrows missed by a humiliating distance.

Zeikas surrounded me from all sides. They were closing in at the gallop.

Arak was trying to get back onto his horse, but he had injured one leg in the fall. I loosed a third arrow in his direction and was dismayed when it struck his horse in the flank. The animal squealed and bucked like a demon, swaying dangerously close to the oncoming cart.

Its flailing hooves struck one of the carthorses. The carthorse tripped and fell, bringing the entire thing to a sliding halt.

I took my chance to run, but three Zeika men were coming at me on foot while two others approached from the other side, swords at the ready. I closed my eyes and sought help from Sy-tré, who answered my call immediately. I shifted into my black wolf form, lusting momentarily at the dizzy sensation of weightlessness as the rules of the natural world were defied.

‘Fire!’
Rekala screamed.
‘Run!’

The Zeikas were channelling their magic towards us—with their palms up, green fire spewed forth in streams.

I turned and fled, panic gripping me as I bounded through the grass. I heard the thundering of hooves behind us. I stretched my four legs until they burned with agony, but the hot breath of the horse swelled behind me. Muscles strained and locked tight, I faltered to the right, and the horse’s hoof clipped the side of my head. White-hot stars exploded in my vision as I pitched over and lay still in the swaying grass, thrown back into my human form.

As the pain ebbed through my head, I could still feel the quiver of arrows on my back digging into my shoulder. I thought about reaching for the marble-hilted knife at my side, but the Zeikas were upon me too fast, pointing crossbows and polearms at me.

The horse and rider that had run me down galloped off to help capture Rekala. She had been forced to stop and defend herself. At least two of her attackers lay on the ground, dead, but a third Zeika advanced on horseback. The animal snorted in fear, but the Zeika booted it forward. Rekala raked her claws across its chest, causing it to rear and dislodge its rider. Then an arrow struck Rekala’s tail, pinning it to the ground.

‘No!’ I heard the anguished cry from my lips.
They’re going to kill my Rada-kin!
I rolled onto my side, head throbbing. I sensed Rekala’s rage and knew the pain she was in.

‘Stop!’ I cried. ‘Don’t hurt her.’

So soon. So soon and it would all be over?

I stood up slowly, bowing and holding my arms out. Tears blurred my vision—I wanted to dash them away because these Zeikas could not possibly understand the relationship between Rada and Rada-kin. A group had surrounded me, all dressed alike in dark green tunics, black leathers and pale green cloaks. A shadow fell over me. The man’s features swam in my vision, but I perceived an unnatural smoothness to his skin. He might have been twenty-five, but for the piercing green eyes, that burned with ancient hatred.

Arak rode over on his warhorse. So it was he who had driven me to the ground. The animal bounced and snorted in agitation, but seemed unharmed by our collision. Arak had pulled my arrow out of its flank, leaving an open wound that streamed blood. When Arak saw the green-eyed man, he visibly trembled.

‘High Commander Jonaal,’ Arak stammered, ‘I didn’t know you were on your way to join us.’ They seemed comfortable talking to each other in Telbion.

‘Somebody had to find out what in Zei’s name you were doing, underling,’ he shouted. ‘Explain this!’

He pointed at me and a crackle of fire appeared on the tip of his finger.

‘I have brought him to prove the will and power of Zei,’ Arak replied. ‘This is the Kriite we were sent to find.’

The green-eyed warleader glared at Arak and muttered a curse of some kind. The injured warhorse reared and dislodged its rider, then galloped away like Zei himself was on its tail.
Maybe he was…
Arak struck the ground again.

‘Fool Warder,’ Jonaal hissed. ‘You ran off and did this without consulting me, a Summoner. You will suffer the consequences.’

Jonaal’s voice was rough and deep with an accent unfamiliar to me. I remembered his name from my schooling in Jaria. He was the high commander of the Zeika Legions, second only to Bal Harar, and bearing near equal power. And here he was standing right before me.
What is this?

‘Are you Anzaii?’ he asked me.

I stared at him, shaking my head.

Arak stood to his feet, clutching his side.

‘This is the wild Rada from the ancient line,’ he shouted angrily. ‘His face matches the picture we’ve all been shown. I recognised him outside a bar in Tez. Zei sent him to me. Look at his wrist.’

He grasped my arm, bearing the underside. Against my dark olive skin, the livid white talon scar was clearly visible. I saw the hawk in my mind; a memory that would haunt me forever.
It dropped from the sky like a rock, claws outstretched to snare its meal. I saw it a split second before it arrived and instinctively threw up my arms. The raptor’s claws snapped closed over my wrist before it realised I was too heavy to carry off
.

I shook my head, fighting to think straight. They could only know about my scar if I was very well known to them. That meant two things—first—Jaria had been infiltrated by Zeikas at some point—and second—these enemies had me mistaken for somebody important. Little did they know that I was merely a Rada, and a new one at that.

Rekala tore the arrow out of her tail with her teeth, but by then the Zeikas had her surrounded. She roared at her aggressors. I felt sick listening to her frustrated whine-growls. What would they do to her? With that many weapons pointed at her, she now knew better than to rush one of the Zeikas. Her rational, human sense of self-preservation won out over primeval, animal bloodlust.

‘He does look like Joram, doesn’t he?’ Arak mused.

‘Hold your tongue or I’ll rip it out of your head.’ Jonaal touched Arak’s face with one finger and a tear appeared in the flesh of his cheek, shooting outwards to his ear. With an earsplitting scream, Arak staggered back, blood pouring down his face and neck. This must have been the Zeika’s rending magic, which I hadn’t witnessed since I was a child. If Jonaal was a Summoner, that meant he also possessed all the powers available to a Zeika. With him nearby, my chances of escape seemed bleak.

Arak continued to wail.

‘Silence,’ Jonaal snapped. ‘You have interfered in a larger plan, Arak, and for that you will suffer. However, your bungling may have revealed a slight miscalculation in our timing. This man is obviously not at the level Bal Harar requires.’

‘Surely now is the time to seize him, then,’ Arak muttered. ‘Before he becomes as slippery as the other Anzaii we have known, or more so.’

‘No, no, no,’ Jonaal growled. ‘He is not ready. I’ve cast a piercing spirit circle upon him, but he’s not even attempting to block us from warding. This means he’s not even Anzaii.’

I listened to their conversation in a state of breathless shock. In their quarrelling they didn’t even bother to search me for weapons. I was glad, because my mother’s pendant could easily have seemed like my Anzaii-kin to them, and I didn’t want them to take it or the marble-hilted knife from me. I shifted on the ground, causing Roukney to slide down behind the folds of my shirt. It caught on one of the leather ties on the neck of the shirt. I held my breath as the Zeikas continued to argue. I wasn’t sure if I was more afraid of being branded Anzaii or of them taking my mother’s pendant.

‘Where is he?’ a silvery voice questioned from behind me. ‘I want to see him.’

Her voice was young, but full of self-confidence.

Jonaal whirled angrily. ‘Not now, Princess. When we arrive at the quarry, he’s all yours.’

Princess? A strangely endearing term for a Zeika to use to one of his whores… And what did she want with me?
The Zeikas were renowned for their intensely patriarchal society. Even Jesath gave more freedom to its women, and Jesath was a realm of harlots and slavery.

‘Arak,’ Jonaal began, ‘seeing as you brought the Jarian to us prematurely, you will be his babysitter.’ Then he turned to address his higher ranking subordinates, ‘Warder Arak is ambitious, so let’s see what he can do, but there will be no treatment for his wounds until Talon is in Reltland.’

His cloak swept outwards as he stalked away. The other Zeikas laughed as they followed him, casting supercilious looks at Arak, who swore vehemently as he got to his feet. He grabbed me by the collar, projecting Jonaal’s wrath, and a measure of blood from his facial wound, onto me.

‘Order your beast to take horse form. She will replace the horse that was killed.’

I strained to see Rekala to my left. She was in her natural form with a wire noose around her neck, struggling back from a Zeika. The noose grew tighter and tighter until her tongue was hanging out. The skin was thickly furred there, but a ring of red had appeared under the wire.

‘I could no sooner order her to do anything than I could submit myself to your demons,’ I retorted angrily.

‘Tell her!’ the Zeika shouted close to my ear. ‘Or she might as well be dead.’

He lifted a crossbow and aimed it at her head. She morphed into horse form with a feisty flick of her tail.

‘Now tell her that if she tries anything,
you
will suffer.’

I didn’t have to tell her. They led her to the front of the war carriage and harnessed her tightly. One of the other horses snapped at her as the carriage jolted forward. She laid her ears back and gave him a vicious nip. He shied away.

Arak knotted a rope to my wrists and tied me to the back of the second supply cart. I was so relieved he didn’t try to block my access to the waves with a ward again that I didn’t mind the pinching grip of the rope. The carts bounced forward and I had no choice but to stumble and run behind.

The two Zeikas on the back of the cart spoke urgently in their own dialect. Although I couldn’t understand their Reltic language, I saw one gesture at the swirling clouds in the sky. The back of the cart was stacked with sacks of flour and other perishables. If it rained, they would all be ruined. Obviously this was an emergency supply, grabbed at the last minute without thought for bad weather. Where could they be heading? The Zeikas and their slaves lived far away across the sea.

I tried to work the binding off my wrists as I jogged, but it was strong. If I couldn’t get it off I wouldn’t be able to morph. Rada could take another form mid-stride, mid-battle, even while carrying possessions. We could morph with clothes and possessions, knowing they would be restored when we resumed our natural form. But if we were tied up or attached to something larger than ourselves, we were trapped in our current form.

I ran faster to keep up, head pounding each time my feet made contact with the ground. I breathed moist, heavy air into my lungs.

After a while my energy flagged and I leaned on the back of the cart. One of the Zeikas lashed out with his boot and pushed me off with such force that I lost my footing. I was dragged along the ground. The Zeikas laughed at me. I spat blood and dirt out of my mouth as I grasped at the rope with my fingers. Rocks and rubble scraped my side, but I was unable to regain my feet. Pain shot through my wrists.

‘Stop!’ I hollered. ‘Let me… up… help… me!’

Arak swore at me from the other cart as ours began to slow. He jumped down, unable to hide his wince of pain.

‘Weak fool,’ he spat. Blood had congealed on the cut on his face, and he had to be in pain from Rekala’s scratches and his fall earlier. ‘Get on. You’re holding us up.’

He peeled me off the ground and shoved me. I allowed myself to look tired, but drew a series of deep breaths.

‘Sy-tré attend me,’
I called through the waves.

Aiming for the part of his armour Rekala’s claws had penetrated, I kicked him with all my strength. The blow connected, but he staggered back for only a moment. He drew his sword and rammed the hilt into my jaw. I lurched away, my head burning with pain, the rope drawing tighter around my wrists. Arak’s fist lashed out, but I ducked and pushed him over with my shoulders.

As he rolled onto the ground, I snatched his broadsword and severed the rope that kept me tied to the cart. Not quite knowing what was happening, I turned to face the other men on my cart. The strong silver hilt sat awkwardly in my bound hands. The amazing dark burgundy colour of the blade almost seemed to shine. I couldn’t angle it enough to cut the bonds around my wrists.