Joblar struggled to raise his weapon as he watched the two strange figures approach. The pounding in his head was less and his heart no longer threatened to break through his chest, but he was no more able to rise for that. His nose was working furiously, but he could scent nothing beyond the sting of his own blood and the rank tang of the iron.
The figures stopped well clear of his reach, postures cautious but not hostile. The tall one spoke, but its horrible Turaleean combined with Joblar’s poor understanding of the language frustrated the communication. Seeing this, the smaller one spoke in passable western territories dall, and Joblar’s eye went wide. The accent marked the creature as a were. Closer examination of the features confirmed it. So surprised was he that he scarcely heard what was said, let alone understand it.
“I said,” the were repeated, “don’t be alarmed. We mean you no harm.”
That was hardly to be credited. “Has something changed since I went under the iron?” Joblar’s voice was suspicious.
The were smiled coldly. “Things have changed, but not in the manner you inquire after.”
The creatures exchanged words in Turaleean that Joblar couldn’t follow, and the larger moved away while the smaller remained. “Are you escaped from the Griffin’s Perch camp then?”
Joblar thought hard before answering. But, since they could hardly return him to the king’s custody after having slaughtered five soldiers, he decided to respond. “Aye. And I will not return there with breath in my body.”
“Sure of that, are you?” the were smiled that cold smile again, and Joblar stiffened. Had he misjudged?
The bigger creature was returning, a water skin in hand. Closing no nearer than before, it paused to pour a healthy swallow down its own throat to show the water wasn’t poisoned or drugged, and then tossed the skin into Joblar’s lap. Joblar brought it clumsily to his lips, struggling against the desire to pour its entire contents down his throat in a single stream. But six years wasn’t enough to make him forget everything. The water would do him no good spewed out upon the ground.
Therefore, he carefully squirted enough to cover his tongue and fill his mouth, lowering the skin while he allowed the warm liquid to trickle down his throat. The big creature nodded approvingly at this and turned away to trudge back up the hill.
“Why allow me water,” the dall asked the were after a few more swallows, “if you’re going to return me to the camp. For that matter, why kill the overseers who would have had me to carry back in another moment in any case? You cannot hope to reap any sort of reward for my scrawny carcass– not after what happened on yon hill.”
“Is that the only way you can conceive of returning,” the were harrumphed. “Carried in like a sack of grain?”
“They’d have to carry me thus, for I’ll never again walk willingly into captivity.”
The were was shaking his head slowly, broadly. “You have been under the iron for a long time," he grinned. “Could you not, then, conceive of any other way to arrive?”
“What games are you playing, were?” Joblar’s temper began to flare. “I am the last of my people to taste the air, and I owe it to them to remain so.”
“Do you not owe them another debt, my friend?”
Joblar narrowed his eyes. “You mock me,” he hissed. “And who are you to bring up such duty, who travels not with a pack, but with a man child?”
Surprisingly, the were leaned back and laughed aloud at the insult. The big one —the man— looked up from his examination of the dead overseer corporal to locate the sound before continuing with what he was doing.
“Is your honor so hilarious a subject?” the dall demanded, hackles rising.
“Perhaps so,” the were laughed. “Some days moreso than others, lately. But I was only overcome with the degree of the change I bespoke earlier.” He hunkered down beside Joblar and held out a hand for the skin. Cautiously, the dall handed it over. The were drank deep and passed it back. Joblar’s brows rose, and he did not immediately drink. It was a bargain the were was offering. A pact of sorts. Moreover, Joblar had never in his life encountered its like. Not in all his memory, nor in the memories of the tellers of clan Blue Deer, had a dall ever been offered common resource by one of the others. He tilted his head to one side, skin near his mouth. “Why?”
The were didn’t smile this time. “Because things have changed, dalla. The man has done it. Because you escaped the clutches of the king’s soldiers and led them to us. Because you are strong. Because there is another way you may reenter Griffin’s Perch camp than to be carried in as a piece of property. Because there is a way for you to repay your debt.”
“There is not,” Joblar insisted. “To return there would mean only my death. I am the last of my people. I am alone.”
The smile reappeared as the were spread his hands. “You have but to drink and that will no longer be so.”
Joblar lowered the skin in surprise. “You truly offer?”
The were clucked his tongue. “Are you so dense, then, friend? Did the man not risk his very life to keep the overseers from you? Did I not? Have we yet cast covetous eyes upon your vast wealth?”
Joblar’s mind was racing. “You know of my debt. You are willing to share it?”
A wave up the hill, where the man had moved to the last of the corpses. “Have we not already begun to pay?”
The dall’s eyes narrowed. “And what of the debts I will share?”
“Not so lack-witted at that,” the were chuckled. “Does it matter?”
No. “Yes.”
The were rested his forearms on his knees and leaned forward, grinning. “We are pursued by all the energies of the mad man king of Turalee, who, it seems, wants us and those we love dead at any cost.
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“Those energies apparently include the excesses of the ogres —who have already attacked us in number— and of the greel, who do apparently exist outside of legends, and have begun venturing from their southern fastness.
“We hunt a thing that successfully contests the gods so that we may kill it where they cannot. To that end, we seek out the mountain children in their own halls to obtain that which they may not be willing to surrender.”
Even Joblar had to be impressed at the straightforward manner in which the were pronounced doom upon anyone idiotic enough to share ritual drink with him. “And that’s all?”
The were’s tone became cavalier, “there is one thing more... The man has vowed to erase the practice of slavery in all its forms from the face of the second world.”
Joblar started visibly, glanced up at the man, now approaching the remaining horse, and put the skin to his mouth, shooting a long stream down his throat.
The were laughed again, holding out his right hand. “So eager to die! I’m impressed.”
Joblar took the were’s wrist in his hand, feeling the other’s hand clamp down on his own wrist. “Joblar Bonecruncher, of the Blue Deer dall.”
Koli gave the dall his wolven name, all yips and barks, “...but in this form, I’m Koli the Trader, of Tandabaer, Turalee.”
Joblar turned his regard to the figure atop the hill. “what sort of creature is he?”
The were shrugged expansively. “Some sort of man child as I understand it, although not the sort you’ve ever seen. He’s come from the first world.”
Joblar snorted his disbelief, lowering the skin. “You do mock me!” he said. “The first world is a granny tale to frighten the pups and make the dallehya swoon.”
“You’ve but to smell him to know that he’s nothing that’s ever belonged to the second world.” the were insisted.
It was Joblar’s turn to shrug. “I smell nothing but blood and the iron. Perhaps it will change with time.”
A secret sort of smile. “Nevertheless, I have it on the highest authority.”
Joblar glanced up the hill, where the big one was picking up a fallen pistol. “You are mad, of course,” he shook his head. “Both of you, if you believe that. But I could see that you were mad when you stood before eight of the king’s soldiers for no other reward than a near-dead dalla.”
The man was returning, something in his hands. He squatted, facing the other two, and tore a chunk out of a thick piece of jerked meat. Chewing rhythmically, he held the meat out to Joblar, reaching with his other hand to take the skin.
“Does he know what this means?” Joblar asked Koli before taking the meat.
“He knows the old ways,” the were assured. “Perhaps better than some who should do.”
Joblar bit down on the tough flesh and gnawed a piece free as the man drank. The dall passed the jerky to Koli as he chewed, eyes examining this strange creature who would dare to make war on the slavers of not just one guild, but all the world. The man produced a small leather bag, then, and held it out. With a sidelong glance at Koli, who nodded, Joblar reached out a dampened finger. Salt. The bag was held out to the were, who casually dipped out his own. Lastly, the man dipped his finger and put crystal to tongue. Then he held out his hand.
Joblar took it, surprised at the strength of the grip. “Joblar Crunch Bones,” he told the man in his broken Turaleean. “Dall from Deer like Blue comes.”
The man listened with tilted head, an oddly familiar gesture. Then he smiled. “Braedonnal Storm. Bravo Company, 1st of the 10th, 982nd RDF, Marine Expeditionary Force Omicron, late of Sierra Nevada District 5, North American Council, Terra.”
Joblar understand only one or two words, the rest hitting him as a string of incomprehensible sounds.”
“Storm,” Koli provided, seeing Joblar’s difficulty. “His name’s Storm.”
Joblar nodded. A fitting name for one who would seek to sweep the world clean.
Sandahl crested the hill, high-kicking and nipping, herding the late guardsmen’s horses before him. Storm and Koli rose to gather them in.
Storm thought to suggest to the trader that he check the saddlebags, but Koli had anticipated him and was already stripping the bags from the third captured horse, tossing it in a pile with the others.
“Unsaddle them,” the trader told the man. “Check for pockets in the saddle blankets or hollows in the saddle frames.”
Storm set to work, tossing the saddles and blankets aside and picketing the animals in the tall grass. The horses themselves were pretty good stock, he noted, though showing signs of extended ill-treatment. He wished there were water nearby. He and Koli had only five or six liters between them, and that wasn’t going to be nearly enough.
“Where’s the nearest water?” he asked as he stooped over to press the final picket pin into the turf.
Koli left off rifling a saddlebag and scratched an ear with a slow, strumming motion. “Five hours, I think, at an easy walk. Are their canteens all empty?”
“Might as well be,” Storm groused. “I couldn’t fill one with what I could drain out of all of them. I thought this king trained his soldiers.”
Koli let loose a bark of laughter. “His soldiers, yes. These were hardly soldiers– more like herd boys with rusty swords. Bright enough to keep slaves alive and working with a well and supply wagons handy, but no great thinkers nor prone to forethought.”
Storm was checking hooves and legs for damage, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t hire a herder who couldn’t take better care of a horse than this. It looks like a one armed, four thumbed, blind man trimmed this hoof. I’m surprised this animal can walk, let alone run.” He had a knife out and was trying to trim the overgrown hoof without removing the shoe. It wasn’t working too well. “Damn! He spat. Look at his leg,” running his hand along the horse’s left front cannon.
“Well,” Koli opined as he gathered their loot into one overstuffed pair of bags. “I’d suggest you kill the offending lout, but I suspect that you already have.”
Finished with his inspections, Storm trudged up the hill toward the piled corpses. He’d already gleaned anything valuable from them, but he’d left them their clothing. Moving to the corporal, he pulled out the combat knife and bent over the body, half lifting it by the shirt. The knife flashed. He was tying the last knot when Koli moved behind him.
“Do you think that’ll do any good?”
Storm ran a hand critically along the bandage wrapped cannon from fetlock to knee. “I’d rather have liniment and muscle relaxers, yank these shoes and let him rest for a month or so, but this is better than nothing. We get to the water and I’ll check him again. Might have to shuck the shoes, retrim the hooves and leave him behind there where he can at least drink when he needs.”
Koli shook his head. “Leave a half lame horse alone at a spring? You underestimate the plain, Tairn. If you’re going to get him eaten, it may as well be us who do the chewing as whatever predator first chances upon him after we leave.”
“Got a better suggestion?”
“I just gave it. If we can save the creature without undue hardship all well and good, but if not, why let the meat go to those who didn’t fight for it?”
Storm grated his teeth. He knew that horse was considered a delicacy in some circles, but he’d never developed a taste for it. But how much better for the poor beast to force it along on a bad leg. He was half tempted to go back up the hill and kick the dead man who’d ride an animal who’s leg was in such shape. “When will we be ready to move?”
Koli shrugged. “Now, If you’re quite finished husbanding the horses.”
“What about the dall?” glancing over at the recumbent figure
Another shrug. “We may have to put him in the saddle, but once there, I doubt he’ll fall off.”
“Which one, d’you think?”
Koli the trader didn’t hesitate; “the speckled grey. He isn’t the best horse in the lot, but he’s calm and has the smoothest gate. And I don’t think friend Joblar has been aboard more than shank’s mare in recent memory, if ever.”
Nodding, Storm took up a blanket and one of the piled military saddles. In scarcely five minutes, he was leading the gelding down toward Joblar the dall.
“Do you ride?” Koli was already there.
The dall shook his head slowly. “The forest isn’t kind to the runners, and the blue deer lived along the fringe. Too much work to keep animals we could only rarely use.”
“Hmph. Well, you’ll have some time to learn now. We won’t be moving very fast at first. Unless you’d rather walk?”
Joblar would rather have, but the simple truth was that he would do good simply to stand. “Show me what to do.”