Journey into the Void (29 page)

Dag-ruk made a swift gesture with her hand, a gesture that commanded everyone to get out. The taan fell all over themselves in their haste to obey, all except R'lt, who remained standing motionless. Dag-ruk glared at him and, finally, he turned slowly and walked off.

Dag-ruk thrust her face close to Raven's, who took care not to fall back or give way, knowing that to do either would be a sign of weakness.

“There is one reason I do not kill you for this insult, R'vn, and that is because you have found favor in the eyes of K'let, the kyl-sarnz. You had best hope that the shadow of his hand continues to protect you, for if it is ever removed…” Dag-ruk snatched the tum-olt from its leather sheath, held the blade to Raven's throat. “I will feast on your heart.” Raven remained still. He did not flinch, though the sharp blade drew blood.

Dag-ruk thrust the sword back into its sheath. With a last, enraged snarl, she entered her tent.

“I will give you time to reconsider your refusal,” she said.

Raven felt burning pain on his neck. He touched the wound, his hand came away covered in blood. He put his arm around Dur-zor, who was so weak from fear that she could barely stand. Holding fast to each other, they made their way through the ominously silent camp. The other taan avoided looking them in the face, fearful of raising Dag-ruk's ire. Raven could feel the burning eyes stare at him as he passed. A few of the half-taan did meet his gaze, though they lowered their eyes quickly afterward. He saw in them a dawning respect and admiration, and that gave him an idea.

Raven had not realized before then that being selected as one of K'let's bodyguards gave him both status in the tribe and provided him with a certain amount of protection. He guessed immediately that K'let's favor was behind Dag-ruk's desire to take him for a mate, and that led him to an intriguing thought. Raven had cursed the hours he was forced to stand in close proximity to the Vrykyl. Perhaps, instead of cursing them, he might make use of them. As a soldier, Raven had always scorned those who ingratiated themselves with their commanders to try to obtain a promotion. Raven didn't want a promotion. He wanted something else, something more important. What could it hurt?

All that could wait, however. His idea was only half-formed, and he was too tired to think about it now. He drew the trembling Dur-zor inside their tent, took her in his arms, and held her close. He began to kiss her, but she stiffened and slid out of his grasp.

“You must go to her, Raven,” said Dur-zor. “You must tell her you are sorry, and you want to mate with her.”

“But I don't, Dur-zor,” said Raven. “You are my mate. I pledged myself to you. Let Dag-ruk do what she likes to me.”

Dur-zor looked at him sadly. He would never understand, nor did she want him to. Her life had already been so blessed—that was another word he had taught her. She had no right to expect more. With a sigh and tremulous smile, she nestled into his arms.

 

Taan tents, even those that belong to the great among them, are small structures, designed to be broken down rapidly and carried away on the taan's back. The nizam Dag-ruk could not stand upright in her tent. She could not pace about, could not walk off the fury that burned so hot in her blood it seemed to blister her guts. She crouched on the dirt floor,
seething and gnashing her teeth, digging her sharp talons into the palms of her hand so that they ran red with blood.

Hearing a sound, she looked up to see R'lt.

“Who gave you permission to enter?” she snapped, foam flecking her lips. “Get out!”

“Not until I have had my say, Dag-ruk.”

Although the nizam rules the tribe, the shaman holds the power of life and death over its people, and so he is often the more feared of the two. It is the shaman who places the magical stones beneath a warrior's hide, the shaman who grants the warrior the gift of Void magic, the shaman who can withdraw that gift or even turn the gift against the warrior.

Dag-ruk glared at him.

He stared back, his gaze cold.

She thrust out her lower lip, sullen, defiant.

“Say what you must, R'lt, then get out.”

“Why would you mate with an xkes? Would you shame us all?”

“I have my reasons,” she said. “And I don't need to explain them to you!” She made a dismissive gesture. “You are jealous, that is all.”

“As if the day would ever dawn when I would be jealous of xkes!” said R'lt with a sneer. “What will the taan think of you the day you bring forth his babe—a mewling, puking half-taan…”

Dag-ruk's lips curled in a smirk.

“Ah, I understand. That is why you choose him,” said R'lt, his voice hard with anger. “You could rid yourself of his babe. You could not do so with mine!”

“I am a warrior!” Dag-ruk flashed. “I am nizam of my people. How long would I be nizam if I were not able to join the battle because my belly is swollen with your brat? There are other reasons, though. R'vn stands high in K'let's favor. The shaman Derl told me in private that K'let has great things planned for this xkes.”

Dag-ruk lowered her voice. “K'let plans to make this R'vn a Kylbufftt.”

“A Vrykyl? Pah!” R'lt spit on the ground in a show of defiance. He was uneasy, however. The aged shaman Derl was known to be K'let's closest friend and confidant. “Why would K'let choose to so honor an xkes?”

“Ask K'let,” said Dag-ruk, with an unpleasant smile.

R'lt cast her an angry glance, but said nothing. Dag-ruk realized,
somewhat late, that it might be dangerous to thwart such a powerful man. She adopted a conciliatory tone.

“You understand, R'lt, that I do this for the tribe. For you, for us. In order to be one of the gods-touched, R'vn must be killed. His corpse will not need a mate. By then, I will be elevated in rank, perhaps even made the commander of a calath. Then I would consider having a child.”

“My child?” said R'lt.

“Your child,” said Dag-ruk.

R'lt eyed her. He did not trust her. She was lying, trying to placate him. He saw that she feared him, and he was pleased. She would bear him a child. He would see to that. He dared not touch her now. But the day would come when she would be humbled and glad to take him for her mate.

He left her tent, left her smirking, thinking she had won. He spoke softly the words of his magic and cloaked himself in shadow, so that he was one with the gathering night. He waited outside Dag-ruk's tent. He did not have to wait long. She emerged from the tent, shouted in a loud voice for Ga-tak, one of the warriors.

The summons passed through the tribe and, within moments, Ga-tak came hurrying to her.

“I have a task for you, Ga-tak,” said Dag-ruk.

The warrior nodded, looked at her with a gleam in his eye.

“You know the half-taan, Dur-zor?”

Ga-tak hesitated, not wanting to admit to anything.

“You know her,” Dag-ruk growled. “I want you to kill her.”

“Yes, Nizam,” said Ga-tak, and he would have dashed off on the instant, but Dag-ruk stopped him.

“Not now, you grolt! You must be subtle. I do not want R'vn to know. He might cause trouble with K'let. You will do this when he is on duty with the kyl-sarnz. You will take Dur-zor far from here, slay her, and hide her body where it will never be found. I will tell R'vn that she has run away. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Nizam,” said Ga-tak.

“Good. Be off with you. Let me know when the deed is done.”

Dag-ruk ducked back inside her tent. Ga-tak departed, pleased with his task. R'lt lingered, but Dag-ruk did not leave her tent, nor did she invite anyone else to come in. He departed. He now had his own plans to consider.

T
HOUGH THE SUN WAS HIGH IN THE SKY, THE SHAMAN DERL WAS
asleep when he received the summons to attend K'let. Any other taan caught slumbering during the hours meant for work would have been driven from the tribe with rocks and curses. Derl was in no danger, however. The most powerful Void sorcerer ever to have walked on Loerem, he was revered only slightly less than K'let, the god-touched, and was feared as much.

Derl spent much of his time sleeping. Having extended his life through the use of Void magic, he had not been able to extend the vitality of youth. He was an ancient taan. He had lived so long he had forgotten how old he was. His body was frail, and he was forced to conserve his strength. He would need strength in the times that he saw coming. Derl had vowed to the old gods, to Iltshuzz and Dekthzar and Lokmirr and to Rivalt, his patron goddess, that he would live long enough to see Dagnarus destroyed, thereby proving to the taan that this xkes was no god.

Derl's body had grown feeble. His hair had turned white, his hide a mottled gray. He slept more than he was awake these days, but when he was awake, his mind was sharp and keen as the blades of a sut-tum-olt. A young shaman touched Derl on the shoulder.

“K'let summons you, Master,” said the danhz-skuyarr in tones of reverence and respect.

Derl blinked at the bright daylight, then rose painfully from his bed.
The young shaman assisted by rubbing the elderly taan's muscles to restore the circulation.

“Something has happened,” Derl said, eyeing the young taan sharply and noting her air of disquiet. “What is going on? Are we being attacked?”

“No, Master,” the young shaman replied. “But you are right. Something dire has happened. Did you…” she hesitated. “Did you not hear K'let?”

“You know that I am deaf in one ear,” he said testily. “I heard nothing. What about K'let? What did he say?”

“He ‘said' nothing, Master,” the shaman replied, her voice hushed with awe. “He gave a terrible shriek that pierced the heart. A shriek that echoed through the camp and caused all the warriors to drop what they were doing and grab their weapons and come running. All thought the scream was his death cry. His bodyguards came out to tell us that nothing was amiss, the kyl-sarnz was safe. They did not say what had happened. They said only that K'let wanted to see you immediately.”

“Hand me my robes,” said Derl. “Any of them. It doesn't matter. Make haste.”

With the aid of the young shaman, he wrapped himself in the heavy garments that were not heavy enough to keep out the chill he felt in his bones even on the hottest summer day. He walked through the camp, moving slowly, but under his own power. Daily routine had come to a halt. The warriors stood about with their weapons in hand, wary and tense. The taskers gathered the children near, just in case.

The bodyguard, one of whom was the xkes, R'vn, stood aside to allow Derl to pass.

K'let's tent was built on a larger, grander scale than the tents of most taan. Dagnarus had gifted K'let with a tent such as those used by human kings and commanders, a tent large enough that a taan could stand upright. Derl was grateful. Bending and stooping to enter the small taan tents was starting to wreak havoc on his old bones.

He entered the tent to find that K'let had abandoned his Void armor. He had taken his taan form. Derl stopped to stare. K'let rarely used his taan form, preferring to encase himself in the shining black armor of the Void that set him above and apart from his people. Born an albino, K'let had been shunned by his people, treated little better than a half-taan. Though he had, even in life, risen to an almost godlike status among the
taan, the pain of those memories was so acute that they spanned the gulf of death. Rarely did K'let adopt the guise of what he had been when he was alive—a taan male, strong and muscular, ferocious and formidable, with clay white hide and lizardlike red eyes.

K'let paced back and forth in the tent. His expression was unlike anything Derl had ever seen, and he had known K'let for close to a hundred years. His bestial face was twisted in a snarl of scowling fury, but there was a gleam of fierce joy in the red eyes.

“K'let,” said Derl, “I come in answer to your summons. I fear you have had dire news—”

“Your fear right,” said K'let, halting his pacing and rounding on Derl. “Dismiss the guard.”

Mystified, Derl lifted the tent flap. “You and the rest of the guard are dismissed.”

The human, R'vn, might not understand the words, but he could hardly fail to miss the gesture. He walked off, heading in the direction of his tribe's encampment.

“Yes, my friend, what is it?” Derl asked, dropping the tent flap.

K'let motioned the shaman to come near. The taan's red eyes burned. “I have been in contact with Nb'arsk.”

Nb'arsk was also a Vrykyl, a taan Vrykyl like K'let. The two communicated through the Blood-knife.

“Five thousand taan are dead at the battle of the God City,” said K'let.

Derl stared, shocked speechless.

“They were murdered,” K'let continued, grinding the words beneath his sharp teeth. “By Dagnarus.”

Derl did not know what to say. The appalling news left him paralyzed, shaken. His legs started to prickle and tremble, the blood left his head. He was forced to sit down or fall. K'let assisted the aged shaman, squatted beside him.

When the dizziness passed, Derl felt better. Now he understood the scowling fury…and the triumph.

“Tell me,” was all he said.

“When the taan came to the God City, Dagnarus rode into the city by himself, telling the taan he wanted to talk the xkes into surrendering.”

Derl shrugged, made a face. He had never been able to grasp this strange concept, but he let the matter pass.

“Dagnarus told the taan to wait for him before they launched the attack. Days passed, and Dagnarus did not return. Then one morning he came to the taan to say that the xkes had not only surrendered, they had agreed to accept him as their king and their god. There would be no attack on the human city. He ordered Nb'arsk and five thousand taan to march south, to take one of the magical holes-in-the-air, and proceed from there to reinforce the taan fighting in the human land of the xkes, Nesskrt-tulz-taan (Those Who Die Like Taan).”

“Nb'arsk captured the magic hole-in-the-air?” Derl asked with interest.

“Of course.” K'let dismissed this as nothing. “She did not immediately enter the hole, however, for the taan had taken many slaves, and she knew that they would fight better if they were permitted to enjoy their spoils before going on. They had been there four days when a tasker came stumbling into camp. The tasker was half-dead from her wounds. She reported that Dagnarus had led the remaining taan into a trap. Once the taan entered the walls of the God City, the gates closed behind them. They were attacked by powerful wizards wielding foul magicks and by archers and swordsmen. Our people fought bravely and took many xkes with them into death, but no taan survived. Lokmirr gathered to her five thousand taan that day. All died, including the taskers and the children. Yet, even though they were ambushed, they died heroes, and they will be honored by our people. I will see to that.”

Derl saw K'let's expression, and he understood why K'let chose to relate this to him in his taan form. Taan usually did not honor warriors who had gone down to defeat. In this instance, however, these taan had died nobly. In their defeat, they had won a great victory for K'let and for all the taan people.

“The day that I predicted would come
has
come,” K'let said with fierce elation. “Dagnarus has proven that he is no god of the taan, that he cares nothing for the taan. As he murdered these five thousand, so he means to murder all the rest of us—once we have gained him his great victories, of course.”

“Where is Nb'arsk?” asked Derl.

“I ordered her to travel through the magic hole. She will continue to fight the humans, but now she fights for the glory of the old gods and for the glory of the taan, not for Dagnarus. The taan will keep all slaves and
loot for themselves, not give them to him. Eventually, she will bring her armies to join up with us.”

Derl considered this a good plan, but he was skeptical. “Nb'arsk lacks your strength, K'let. I fear she will not be able to break with Dagnarus. He will continue to control her through the Dagger of the Vrykyl.”

“On the contrary, my friend,” said K'let, “she and Lnskt have already broken with him. He let them go. He said he had no need of them anymore and he bid the Void take them.”

“Is he such a fool?” Derl asked in wonder.

“Whatever else he is, Dagnarus is no fool,” K'let growled. “I see his plan now, as I have seen it all along. He will go to the other derrhuth of this fat land and tell them that the taan have slipped the leash and are now a threat to all derrhuth. He will admit that it is his fault, and he will make amends. He will lead the battle against us, and he will need all derrhuth to join him.”

“But, if we continue to fight the derrhuth, we are doing Dagnarus's bidding,” Derl argued.

“We will fight only long enough to provide our warriors with strong food and many slaves, jewels for our hides and armor and weapons. Then, when the Dagger of the Vrykyl is mine and Dagnarus is my slave, we will return through the magic hole-in-the-air to our old land.”

“A pity to leave this place,” said Derl. “Such a fat land.”

“Bah! Too many trees and too much water for my liking,” K'let returned. “Our gods do not like it here either. They will be happy when we come back home. Besides,” he added offhandedly, “we can always return through the magic hole anytime we want.”

“True,” Derl agreed. “What is to be done now?”

“We will send all the scouts we can spare to carry tidings of this to the other tribes. I have ordered Nb'arsk and Lnskt to do the same. They will tell those taan who already side with us to come out of hiding, to begin to speak openly of the old gods and urge the people to renounce Dagnarus and return to the old ways. They will proclaim that I am the new leader of the taan.”

“That will cause discord among some of the tribes,” Derl predicted. “Some will remain loyal to Dagnarus. Blood will be spilled.”

K'let shrugged. “All the better. Let us purge our ranks of any who continue to view this filthy xkes as a god. The Void take them.”

K'let assisted Derl to stand. “Summon the tribes to come together. I will speak to the people, tell them what has happened, and send out the scouts.”

“I will go forth to prepare to give thanks to the gods,” said Derl. “Tomorrow will be a day of celebration.”

“Add one more matter to your prayers, Derl,” advised K'let, as the shaman was leaving. “I heard yesterday from our eastern travelers.”

“And?” Derl paused, looked back.

“Their mission was successful,” said K'let, grinning hugely. “They have arrived safely at the meeting place and await me there.”

“All went well?” Derl asked.

“All went very well,” K'let answered.

 

Unnerved by the memory of K'let's horrific shriek, Raven was glad to go back to camp and do what he could to try to cheer Dur-zor. He was still rattled from that terrible yell, when he had another unpleasant surprise.

The shaman, R'lt, stepped out of the shadows and stood blocking Raven's path.

Raven brought himself up short, so as to avoid touching R'lt. Like all Trevinici, Raven had an inborn repugnance to magic and those who wielded it. He had no use for human magi, and this taan shaman, who stank of the Void, turned Raven's stomach.

Raven eyed R'lt warily. “What do you want?”

“I came to warn you, R'vn,” said R'lt, speaking through a half-taan translator. “Your wretched Dur-zor is in danger.”

Raven stared at him, wary and suspicious.

“Dur-zor!” R'lt repeated, then he drew his finger across his throat in a slashing motion. “Dag-ruk's orders.” He turned and jabbed a finger back at the camp.

Raven understood everything in a moment and took off running. He cursed himself for a fool. This was why Dur-zor had been so unhappy. This was why she had insisted that he mate with Dag-ruk. Thinking selfishly about himself, he had never given a thought to her. Dag-ruk would not punish him. He was a warrior and valuable to her. He was favored of K'let. Dag-ruk would punish Dur-zor, remove her as an obstacle.

Raven dashed into camp, his untoward haste and wild looks raising
the alarm. Warriors shouted at him, demanding to know what was going on. Raven ignored them, ran straight to his tent, and thrust open the flap, peered inside.

Dur-zor was not there.

He searched throughout the camp, but did not find her. The warriors, understanding at last, went back to their work. Raven noted that many exchanged glances, and his suspicions were confirmed. Everyone knew what was going on.

He accosted the first half-taan he found.

“Where is Dur-zor?” he shouted.

The half-taan shrank away from him. He grabbed hold of her, shook her. “Tell me, damn you! Where did they take her?”

Accustomed to obedience, the half-taan raised a trembling hand, pointed east.

Raven flung the woman away from him, turned and ran in the direction she had indicated. He had not gone far before his trained eye saw signs that someone had gone ahead of him. Grass stalks were crushed and bent. He could see the talon marks of taan toes in the dirt. He followed the signs, his heart in his throat, expecting at any moment to stumble across Dur-zor's body.

He continued tracking, making what haste he could, but fearful of going too fast and losing the trail.

But this trail would be hard to lose. The taan had not taken any care to hide their tracks. Whoever had snatched Dur-zor was not bothering to shake off pursuit. Her captor must be confident that Raven was back guarding K'let.