Faces of Deception (12 page)

Soon, the yak’s feet began to plunge deeper into the water. Small, arrow-shaped ripples appeared at the base of the willow stalks, and it grew clear they were approaching a river. Rishi continued to plow forward until the water rose above the yak’s knees. Finally, he turned upstream, ducking in and out of a network of narrow passages that ran parallel to the main channel. Every now and then they crossed a broader clearing that opened into the river itself, framing a picture-like panorama of water, willows, and sky-scraping peaks.

Naraka’s patrol made good use of the passages and the now obvious bearing of their quarry. It was not long before Atreus began to hear the occasional shouted order.

Even with Yago behind the patrol, Atreus did not want to risk a battle this close to dark. Without a dry place to start a fire, the winners would escape death for only as long as it took to freeze.

“We’re going to have to cross,” Atreus said.

Rishi shook his head. “The river is very deep.”

“Yaks can’t swim?”

“Of course they can,” Rishi replied. “And we will be soaked, with no place to camp.”

“We can’t camp on this side either.”

Rishi shrugged and said, “Who can say, but at least we will not be wet.”

They continued along the shore, and the sky grew steadily grayer. Naraka’s patrol closed the distance, until their voices became a steady murmur creeping up from behind. Atreus began to roll his shoulder and gently swing his arm back and forth, preparing his wound for a battle that now seemed inevitable.

The willows were just beginning to stripe the water with late afternoon shadows when more murmuring voices sounded ahead. Atreus’s first fear was that some of Naraka’s men had circled around to cut them off, but then he also noticed a faint, sporadic clanking. Rishi cursed quietly in Maran and peered back toward Naraka’s patrol.

“What’s wrong?” Even as he asked the question, Atreus fathomed the source of the clanking. “Have we reached the road?”

“Some time ago,” Rishi whispered. “And now we must leave it.”

“What?” Atreus peered through the willows and saw nothing but river. “Do you mean—”

“The good sir understands very well. And soon, so will Naraka.” Rishi started to turn away from the river. “We must lead him away from the river before he sees the boats.”

“Boats!” Atreus nearly shouted the word, and the willows fell silent as Naraka’s patrol stopped to listen. “We have no boats. How are we to use a river with no—”

“Ssssh!” Rishi held his finger to his lips, then hissed, “The Swamp Way is like any road. There are inns spread along its course, and at those inns boats can often be purchased.”

Atreus listened a moment, then groaned. The clanking and voices upstream were growing louder.

“We’re going the wrong direction.”

Rishi scowled and glanced nervously upstream and down. “Certainly the good sir has sound reason for claiming to know more than his guide?” he said. “Perhaps he has been in this swamp before, or perhaps he has a divine map from his goddess such as the one that shows him how to reach the fabled valley, but not the mountains where it lies?”

“The boat is coming downstream,” Atreus replied, “so, unless these river-men make a habit of running in the dark, the nearest inn is not far behind us … on the other side of Naraka.”

Rishi’s face fell, and Naraka’s voice began shouting orders. It did not sound nearly distant enough to please Atreus.

“He’s found our trail.” Atreus turned his yak toward the river and urged it forward. “Maybe we can catch a ride.”

“No! Wait!” Rishi cried. “What about Yago? Surely you do not mean to leave him alone with Naraka?”

“Yago is behind Naraka,” Atreus said, continuing toward the river. “That means he’s downstream. We’ll pick him up on the way past.”

Ponies began to splash through the water, moving fast and coming straight toward them. The murmur on the boats was almost as loud as that of Naraka’s patrol, the clanking so sharp that Atreus could distinctly identify it as chains.

“You do not understand!” Rishi cried, riding after Atreus. “We must go to the inn. These boats are not for sale!”

“Anything is for sale if you have enough gold,” Atreus insisted, pointing to the rucksack hanging from Rishi’s yak. “And we have enough gold.”

Atreus emerged from the willows and found himself staring upstream at a sharp bend in the river. As he watched, a long wooden dugout floated around the corner, guided by a single man in the rear. In front of the pilot stood several burly guards, looming over a dozen people—men, women, and children—chained to the bottom of the boat.

“Slaves?” Atreus gasped. He turned to Rishi, too stunned to be outraged. “I’m following a slaver?”

A second boat floated around the bend, also holding a dozen slaves The captives sat three abreast, with a single chain running through their wrist manacles from one side of the boat to the other. They had the dark hair and golden skin of the Mar, but their faces were rounder and their eyes narrower. Their cheeks and black eyes were bulging, most had a crust of dried blood beneath their nostrils, lips so swollen they could barely close their mouths. Their clothes were filthy, ripped, and too flimsy for a journey through the cold swamp. Most were shivering. All were staring into the water with hopeless, unseeing eyes.

At the rear of the boat stood a pair of guards, larger and of lighter complexion than their captives. They dressed in warm furs and held furled whips in their hands. At their sides hung long padded clubs, no doubt used to beat slaves senseless without damaging their market value. The two men were frowning and looking past Atreus and Rishi into the willows, where Naraka’s patrol was rustling toward shore.

A wave of revulsion rose in Atreus. The thought of buying help from slavers sickened him, but their boats seemed his only hope of survival. Whether or not he defeated Naraka, he would need plenty of warm food and a dry place to sleep if he wanted to see the dawn.

“Perhaps now the good sir sees why we may not ask for a ride,” said Rishi. “It is death to anyone who reveals the Swamp Road to the Queen’s Men. We must lead the patrol away and circle back to the inn, or the river-men will kill us as surely as our pursuers.”

Rishi turned away from the shore, suddenly crying out and pressing himself flat to his mount’s back. A pair of wooden lances flew out of the willows, one striking the gold-filled rucksack on his yak and the other sailing over his head into the river.

A grunt sounded downstream from Atreus. He ducked, then heard a lance hiss past and splash into the water. He twisted toward his unseen attacker, automatically bringing his sword around in an inverted guard, and deflected a second lance corning at his ribs. He urged his mount deeper into the willows, not because he cared whether Naraka’s men saw the slave boats, but because it was death to be trapped against the river.

He was too late. There were two riders lurking in the willows ahead. On the other side of Rishi, another pair—these still armed with lances—were easing through the thicket upstream. Naraka and four more men were coming from downstream, ready to sweep in from behind the instant Atreus and Rishi engaged either pair of riders.

“Yago!” Atreus called. “Need help! Where are you?”

Yago did not answer, and Atreus’s heart fell. He could only guess at Naraka’s casualties in their last clash, but it seemed to him the patrol should have been larger by three or four riders. Whether Naraka had lost those men slaying Yago or simply left them behind to delay the ogre Atreus had no way to know. But had Yago been in earshot, he would have answered.

A cold fury rose inside Atreus, and he turned his yak downstream toward Naraka. Whatever had happened to Yago, the patrol leader’s prejudice was to blame—the patrol leader’s and that of his queen.

“This way, Rishi!”

Hoping to make good use of the yak’s size, Atreus eased his mount into deeper water. Ten paces ahead, Naraka and his group mirrored the movement, two men holding lances and two holding swords.

Rishi came up from the rear, stationing himself a pace back and just inshore of Atreus. Behind them, the other four riders began to splash through the water, slowly tightening the noose.

“Will the good sir have any objection to killing?” Rishi asked quietly.

“The choice is no longer ours,” said Atreus. “Take the two with the lances.”

No sooner had Atreus spoken than a silver blade hissed past his head, flashing toward Naraka’s. The lancer on the end cried out and tried to duck away, but the knife caught him at the base of the skull. He went limp instantly and splashed into the water.

As the other lancer raised his weapon Rishi suddenly cursed and cried out in pain. Atreus glanced back to see the Mar leaning down, groaning and tugging at a lance lodged in the calf of his leg. The rider who had thrown it was moving up from behind with his three companions, their ponies half swimming in the deep water.

A grunt sounded from Naraka’s group, and Atreus looked forward to see the second lancer hurling a wooden shaft in Rishi’s direction. He flicked his sword up, hitting the weapon in mid flight and sending it arcing out into the river. Oblivious, Rishi was still tugging at the lance lodged in his calf.

“Leave that for later!” Atreus yelled.

“Later?” Rishi gasped. “It is stuck through my leg!”

“Forget it,” Atreus said as he urged his yak forward. “Stop the men behind us. I’ll clear the way.”

He angled toward the river as if he were trying to squeeze past his foes. Naraka moved to cut him off, guiding his mount into water so deep that it began to lap at his saddle. On the patrol leader’s arm was a red stain where Rishi’s knife had found its mark earlier, and he held his elbow close to his ribs. His eyes were filled with doubt, and his face was pale with the fear any man would feel when riding out to battle a devil, but his gaze never faltered.

The other two riders swung around toward Atreus’s flank, their legs splashing as they frantically kicked at their mounts. The ponies snorted and whinnied, but they were moving as fast as they could in the deep water. The whole battle seemed to be taking shape in slow motion.

There was a startled cry behind Atreus, then a splash. Three more splashes quickly followed. He looked back to see a wounded rider flailing about in the water, clasping at the shiny hilt protruding from just under his collarbone. One of his fellows was beside him, trying to keep the wounded man’s head above the surface. The other two were swimming alongside their ponies, ready to dive the instant Rishi raised another throwing dagger.

Curious voices began to roll across the water from the slave boats, and the rattle of chains grew louder and more agitated. The first two dugouts had already passed well downstream, and three more were floating around the bend. The passengers—captives and guards alike—were staring at the shore in bewilderment.

The sound of rippling water drew Atreus’s gaze back to his foes. Naraka and his men were only two paces away now, almost within reach of a wild thrust.

“I am sorry for what has passed between us,” Atreus said, “and for what is about to.”

He raised his sword and kissed the blade, then drew the locks of hair he had collected from his belt and cast them into the river. The eyes of the Mar widened. Then his soldiers hurled themselves into the battle with wild abandon. Naraka came in from the front, standing in his stirrups to lean between the yak’s horns and thrust at Atreus’s ribs.

Atreus twisted away, at the same time leaning back to escape the second rider’s wild head slash. When the third attacker came in with a low thrust, he blocked with his weapon’s cutting edge, then circled over the top and brought the blade down on his foe’s wrist. The hand came free with a sickening pop and sank into the river still holding its sword.

As the man screamed, Atreus twisted back toward Naraka and slashed at the second rider’s midsection. The man managed an awkward inverted block that left his head utterly exposed, and Atreus switched attacks smoothly, smashing his sword pommel into the fellow’s face. The rider’s nose shattered, and he tumbled out of his saddle.

Naraka’s sword caught Atreus in the flank, passing entirely through that little roll of flesh just above the belt. Atreus yelled and lashed out with his sore arm, grabbing the patrol leader by the wrist and jerking him forward onto the yak’s head.

Naraka’s other hand arced around, a shiny dagger flashing in his grasp. Atreus released his foe and jerked back and the blade came down on the fleshy hump between the yak’s shoulders. The beast bellowed and whipped its head sideways, flinging the patrol leader into the willows.

Naraka’s sword tore free with a ghastly slurping sound, as Atreus’s waist erupted into molten anguish. He heard himself scream in pain, then felt himself touching a huge flap of skin without quite realizing that he had reached down to probe the sticky mess above his belt.

A roar went up from the slave boats, which had come closer to watch the battle. The guards were facing him as they drifted past, grinning and shaking their fists in approval. The slaves were staring in wide-eyed horror.

“Help!”

The cry came from Rishi and was followed by an unintelligible scream.

Atreus spun around to find three riders swimming up behind them. One grabbed the lance in Rishi’s leg and was trying to drag the Mar off his yak. The other two were circling out to approach from the sides. All three had blue lips and chattering teeth, and they were shaking so hard they could barely hold their weapons.

Atreus grabbed Rishi’s yak by the horn and pulled the beast alongside his, dragging along the man holding the lance. The Mar screamed and flung himself flat on the beast’s back, his fingers digging deep into its shaggy fur.

“Lift your leg!” Atreus ordered.

“Lift it?” There were tears streaming from Rishi’s eyes as he said, “It is not possible. They have me by… lance….”

“Lift it!” Atreus shouted, then raised his sword and leaned around behind his guide. “Lift it or lose it.”

Rishi buried his face in his mount’s fur and tried to obey. The lance came out of the water just enough to see, and Atreus brought his sword down. The blow severed the shaft a foot behind the Mar’s calf, leaving the man at the other end to fall back into the water.