Black Spice (Book 3) (6 page)

Mahai
slid back off the rock, taking a knee and signaling Aiyan to join him.  “There’s
more at stake here than you and Soth Garo.  Men are taking his blood here
before our eyes.  If they are doing so because of threats to their wives and
children, it is because they are hostages.  I need to scout around and see
what’s going on in the village.  Maybe I can find where the unconverted
Silasese are being held, maybe talk to them.”

“What
good will that do?” Lerica said.

“I
can’t say.  Maybe they know something about Soth Garo that we don’t know. 
Maybe they’re only shut away in their houses and we can rescue some of them.”

“I
suppose you are simply going to go among them,” Kyric said.

“The
right headdress, a little face paint, and they will think I’m Hariji.  I know
enough of their pig-tongue to fake it.”  He stood and peered over the boulder. 
“I just need someone with a big head.  There’s a likely candidate.”

A
hunter had left the swirling mass surrounding the fire, staggering across the
field to find a shady spot along the tree line.  He sat down, and his head
slumped forward.

Mahai
smiled.  “I’d better go get him before someone wakes him up.”

Aiyan
gave him a hard look.  “Don’t get caught.”

It
was an hour before Mahai came back.  A line of dark clouds rushed at them from
over the sea.  The rains would begin soon.

Mahai
had been able to scrape some purple paint off the face of his victim, and with
the headpiece and Hariji tunic — a rectangle of red and black cloth with a head
hole, held down by a stringy belt — he really did look different.  And off he
had gone, sauntering across the clearing, shouting with the crowd when another
Silasese took the blood, joining the turning circle, going halfway around and then
disappearing.  Soth Garo continued to give his blood.  The line of fifty men
had been reduced to no more than a dozen.

“The
remaining Silasese are being held all together,” Mahai said as he wiped away
the paint and changed back into his own clothing, “inside an open enclosure,
just below the drop off at the far side of the clearing.”

“How
many hostages?” Aiyan said.

“Several
hundred.”

“Guards?”

“About
thirty.”

“How
much of a drop?”

“Enough
to break your leg,” Mahai said.  “There’s only two ways down:  A cut in the
rocks where they’re bringing the men up, and a ladder near the north side of
town, at the head of the path that runs through the woods to the wedding
house.  You know, where they came out earlier.”

“What
about the town?”

“It’s
a mess, but it’s nearly deserted right now.  There is a camp about a quarter
mile south along the road — maybe a few hundred more Hariji there.”

“What
are they doing?”

“Resting.”

Aiyan
nodded.  “A fresh reserve in case of the unexpected.  I’m sure they’ll be used
as guards tonight.”

“So
can we go now?” Lerica asked.

Kyric
blinked in surprise.  “I though you weren’t afraid of anything.”

“I’m
not.  I’m just bored.”

Aiyan
ignored them, saying to Mahai, “Thirty guards.  Are any of Soth Garo’s men with
them?”

“None
there.  A pair of them were standing guard at the door to the wedding house,
though, along with Ziddgan.”

Lerica
made a face.  “Probably more virgins inside.”

“Who
is Ziddgan?” Aiyan said.

“He
is the high sorcerer of the Hariji.”

“And
what kind of sorcerer is he?”

“He
knows the natural and the preternatural.  He is stronger with his night magic,
but he will use his evil eye in the light of day.”

“These
sorcerers aren’t real magicians,” Kyric said to Aiyan in Avic, “are they?  Not
like Pitbull.”

“You
should know the answer to that.  The old magic was broken in Aeva, right there
where we stood, with the fall of Derndra.  Aeva is the center, and to my experience
the farther from there, the more magical the world becomes.”

“So
what could he do to us?” Kyric asked Mahai.

“He
could paralyze you with one look,” he said, deadly earnest.  “He can break
things if they are made of stuff that once lived.  Your bows and arrows would
be useless against him.”

“Alright,”
Aiyan said, turning back to Mahai, “does anyone else have a line of sight on
the enclosure?  Can Soth Garo and his gang see it from their perch?”

“I
don’t think so,” Mahai said.  “There’s a few houses on the edge of town close
by, but I think they were empty.”

“I
know what you’re planning,” Lerica said, jumping down from the boulder.  “You
can’t be serious.”

“For
now,” Aiyan said, “I’m only waiting to see what the rain brings.”

Mahai
stood.  “If there is an opportunity to rescue them, then we have to try — for
those who took the blood to save their family, and for those who died to remain
free.  If there is to be any hope at all, this abomination must not be allowed
to continue.”

The
line of clouds pushed closer.  Kyric wrapped his wheel-lock in an oilcloth and
placed it in his knapsack.  Lerica did the same with her pistol.

“Better
unstring our bows, as well,” Kyric said to Aiyan.

Aiyan
cocked one eyebrow.  “We could wax the strings instead.”

“Where
are we going to get . . . “ Kyric started to say, then they both looked at
Lerica.

“It
was supposed to be a Solstice present,” she said.

Kyric
nodded.  “And so it is.”

They
waxed their bowstrings, and it wasn’t long before the wind rose and they felt
the first drops.  Atop the escarpment, Soth Garo had sent the last few captives
away, then came down the steps as the rain began to fall in earnest.  He and
his death guards crossed to the circling mass of men and pushed their way in. 
Everyone else gathered under the cliffs or beneath the palms at the edge of the
clearing to sit out the rain.

Aiyan
looked up.  “Wait for it.”

The
sky rumbled and flashed, then the clouds turned black and the rain burst down
in sheets, like volleys of gunfire, so thick that Kyric couldn’t see the far
side of the clearing.

“Now
is the moment,” Aiyan said above the din.  “Let’s go.”

He
led them through the punishing rain at an easy pace, past the cliff faces and
straight across the clearing.  No one approached them.  Kyric didn’t think that
anyone had even noticed them.  Those who had taken cover were only blurry
shadows in the downpour.  When they came near the central group, still turning
but slower now, Kyric felt a strange vibration on the spirit plane.  It had to
be Soth Garo, only fifty steps away.

What
if the white warrior could feel him or Aiyan as they passed?  Kyric reached for
emptiness and kept his head down.

They
made it to the cut in the lower escarpment.  It was rocky and not too steep,
and they had no trouble climbing down into it.

The
cloudburst passed, leaving a steady shower in its wake.  Aiyan stopped and
peeked around the edge of the cut.  Kyric leaned out for a look and quickly
pulled back.  The captives and the guards stood only a stone’s throw away.

The
Silasese had been packed into a round pen of sharpened stakes and coils of
thorny vines.  The Hariji guards huddled beneath a single Ko tree near a gap in
the bristling enclosure, where a spiked log blocked the way.

“There
are rather a lot of guards,” Kyric said.

Mahai
held up his hand.  “I have an idea for reducing them.”

He
explained his plan.

“It’s
worth a try,” Aiyan said.  “We can’t stay here very long.”  He turned to Kyric
and Lerica.  “Leave the pistols in your packs.  Even if they stayed dry, one
gunshot would bring the whole place down on us.”

Mahai
laid his war club casually across his shoulder and stepped out of the cut like
he had a purpose.  He marched right up to the to the group of Hariji, pointing.

“You,
you, you,” he said, picking out nine or ten of them, “come with me.”

One
of the others, an older hunter, rose with a spear in his hand.  “Who are you?”

“You
should know me, fool.  I am Prince Mahai,” he said imperiously, but not too
loud.  “I have been selected to sit at . . . “

Oh,
gods, thought Kyric, he’s going to say ‘Soth Garo.’

“
. . . at
his
right hand.  You will obey me.  Come at once.”

Without
waiting for a reaction, Mahai spun on his heel and began walking back to the
cut.  And the men he had chosen followed him.

Kyric
ducked back and ran to hide behind the rocks at the top of the cut, where
Lerica and Aiyan waited.  All the Hariji had to be inside before they struck.

Mahai
led them in.  He stopped, saying, “Go ahead.  I will join you at the top.”  The
rain slacked off quickly as they trudged up the cut.  When the last man in line
passed him, Mahai clubbed him on the head.

It
gave off a loud thump, like the tapping of a wine cask.  The Hariji all turned,
but Aiyan and Lerica were already in their midst.  Kyric raised his longbow and
shot the lead man in the back.  He went down without a sound.  Kyric nocked
another arrow quickly, vaguely aware that the waxed string felt strange.  The
second Hariji raised his spear and charged at him, covering his body with his
boar-hide shield.  He didn’t know about longbows.  Kyric loosed his arrow as
the hunter bore down on him.  It went through the shield like it was paper,
lodging deep in the man’s chest.  Kyric drew another arrow, then looked around
for his next target.  They were all dead on the ground.  Lerica stood over a
hunter who was drowning in his own blood, her sabre dripping.  She looked at
him oddly, like he was a curious thing.

“Do
you think it will work one more time?” Aiyan said.

Mahai
shrugged as he wiped the blood from his war club.  “Only one way to find out,”
he said, once again laying it across his shoulder.

He
was halfway back to the remaining guards when a Baskillian came from behind one
of the houses.  If he had been one of those with a skull headpiece, he wasn’t
wearing it now.

Awkwardly,
Mahai stopped, then turned to go back to the cut.

“Hey!”
he called to Mahai, “Yes, you.  Stop.  Come here.”

Mahai
walked toward him slowly.

“What
clan are you?” the Baskillian demanded.  “Where is your headdress?”

The
older hunter came toward them.  “He told us that he was Lord Frostheart’s
chosen.”

Without
warning, Mahai swung his war club one handed, like a hammer, right at the
Baskillian’s head, but the man reacted quickly, dodging to the side and taking
the blow on his shoulder.  He cringed in pain, drawing his sword, but Mahai had
already swung again, this time low, shattering the death guard’s knee with an
audible crunch.  He went down screaming.  The rain stopped, and his cry echoed
off the cliffs in the sudden silence.

The
older hunter snarled, and thrust hard, his spear in both hands.  He caught
Mahai flatfooted.  Then Mahai showed how truly strong he was.  He simply
grabbed the haft of the spear with one hand and held it while he backhanded the
hunter with his club, the blow driving him back a few steps before he fell
unconscious.  The Baskillian kept screaming.  Mahai stomped on his neck and he
was still.

The
other Hariji were on their feet.  They scrambled for their spears and shields,
then about half of them ran at Mahai in a sudden fury.

He
took a step toward the cut, realizing at once that the charging hunters would
intercept him before he got near it.  He turned and ran for the town, and they
chased him, howling for his blood.  Mahai sprinted down a curving lane,
disappearing behind a cluster of houses, the hunters on his heels, then they
were gone, the sound of their war cries fading away.

“There’s
only nine guards left,” Aiyan said.  “We’ll have to rush them.”  He glanced at
them both.  “Hold to your spirit, trust one another, and we’ll make it through
this.”

Kyric’s
stomach fluttered. 
Three to one odds, against men who were ready and
waiting
.  His swordsmanship had improved lately, but . . .

“Aiyan,”
he said, “we could start picking them off with our bows, maybe run them off — “

 “No
time for that,” Aiyan snapped.  “It is the moment of the hot iron.  Go now!”

And
he charged, Lerica right with him, sabre in hand.  Kyric cursed and followed,
trying to get ahead of her, but another stabbing cramp struck him in the gut
and he fell a little behind.  Aiyan drew his sword across the open locket and
held the flaming blade high.

In
a corner of his mind, a voice told Kyric: 
If you try to protect her you
will get yourself killed
.  He had to do as Aiyan said — he had to trust her
to take care of herself.  But it was hard.

The
Hariji didn’t even try to form a line, much less anything like a shield wall.  They
placed their spears on their shoulders and waited.  With a burst of speed in
his last few steps, Aiyan kicked out and slid on the wet grass, passing beneath
their spearpoints, hamstringing men left and right, rolling to his feet as he
came to a stop.  Lerica leaped high, over the spear leveled at her, swinging one-handed
on a limb of the Ko tree and placing her boot square into a Hariji nose.

And
then Kyric no longer saw them.  He was alone with his spirit.

Parrying
the thrust that came at him, sliding past the point and spinning across the
man’s shielded side, getting behind him, cutting deep into his back with the
force of the spin.  The feel of a hunter behind him, thrusting.  Barely enough
time to pivot, the spearhead cutting a furrow into his armor as it glanced
off.  A slash at the man’s forearm before he could recover.  His hand still
gripping the spear as it was severed from his wrist, his scream cut short by
someone stabbing him in the back.

Somewhere
in the corner of his mind, the logical observer in Kyric noted curiously how
easily his sword sliced through living flesh.  He hardly felt any resistance. 
It was soft, so very soft.