Raveler: The Dark God Book 3 Page 20

  “Keep a hold of this,” he said. “She falls or breaks her neck, and you’ll lose a hand.”

  The captive in front of Sugar took the yoke.

  They tied a rope from Sugar’s waist to the man behind her. Oaks was placed in the other line.

  The captives were mostly Shoka and Vargon, although there were also a few upland Fir-Noy. The guards in charge of the captives wore the red and white of the Glory of Mokad. They stood for another quarter of an hour waiting until another dreadman arrived holding a small box. It was wrapped with a cloth. However, one red lacquered corner stuck out.

  The same red lacquer she’d seen in Flax’s tower room. She wouldn’t be surprised if it were the exact same box. Flax probably wanted to transport the weave and skenning to safekeeping. He wouldn’t want to take them with him back to Shim’s troops and certainly wouldn’t want to leave them here with Lord Hash.

  When the box was stowed, the fistman sitting up on the wagon stood. He wore mail like the rest and held his helmet in his hand. “You’re all going to Whitecliff. A grand parade through the villages along the way. Something for folk to look at. Something to whet their appetite. Please try to look as evil as possible.”

  A few of the dreadmen laughed at this joke. Then they moved out: ten dreadmen, a wagon loaded with water and food, and two lines of captors shuffling along behind. Sugar thought about Flax. He’d fooled them all.

  The man in front of her raised the tongue of her yoke onto his shoulder, forcing her to raise her chin. It was uncomfortable walking that way, her hands tied behind her back. It became even more so as they paraded down from the castle through the town. People came out of doors to watch them. Some spit. Some tried to strike or hit them, but the dreadmen were feared enough that when they shouted for people to get back, they did. From a high window, someone threw potful of urine upon the captives just in front of Sugar. Someone else flung dog turds.

  By the time they reached the gate, everyone in the line was covered with some sort of filth. A few had been hit with rocks. They shuffled through the outer town and received the same treatment. Then it was onto a ferry that took them over the Lion.

  Back at the river docks, drums beat and ship pipers played as a troop of Mokad’s army marched onto one of its ships. There were substantially fewer ships here than when Sugar and Urban’s crew had attacked the Kains two days ago. Flax had said that Mokad would attack. She suspected those ships had carried the army into Shoka lands.

  The sound of Mokad’s send-off faded as Sugar walked through the ferry town, then out onto the road to Whitecliff. She reminded herself that she was going to meet up with Legs and must keep her spirits up for him. Every now and again, she hummed out a few notes of one of his tunes.

  It was slow going up and down the hills and along the dirt road, for none of them were able to take normal-sized strides. Sugar’s neck was killing her when they finally arrived at a crossroad three miles beyond the ferry town. The crossroad hooked up with a larger road leading to Whitecliff, but the dreadmen halted the captives to let a mounted patrol of Fir-Noy trot past.

  The man trudging two spots in front of Sugar was bound only with ropes. He was a tall, thin man with honors that proclaimed him a Shoka. He turned around and pushed the man holding the tongue of Sugar’s yoke to the side, forcing Sugar to twist. The tall Shoka spat upon her. “You brought this ruin upon us, just like they said you would.”

  Someone from behind Sugar spoke. “Shut your hole. Shim will win this war. And he’ll be happy that filth like you was already culled from the herd.”

  “They’re going to make her wriggle on a stake,” the first man said. “And I hope I’m there to watch it.”

  One of the guards walking along side them jabbed the tall Shoka in the ribs with the butt end of his spear. “No talking.”

  The tall man flinched and returned to his place in line, but his hate still burned. She could not blame him. There would be many more who would hate her and Shim before this was all over.

  When the mounted Fir-Noy patrol had filed past, the dreadmen started the procession again and turned to follow the patrol. The hooves of the mounted patrol ahead, the wagon wheels, and the feet of the shuffling captives all kicked up dust which coated her teeth and filled her nostrils. Soon the Fir-Noy patrol disappeared around a bend up ahead, but the wagons and captives made more than enough dust on their own.

  The only thing Sugar could think to do that might help Shim’s army was to shout out the truth about Flax should they see anyone. But who would they see on this road? Shim had ordered all Shoka to seek shelter in one of the fortresses. And if they hadn’t sought refuge there, then they had fled to some other private place: a cave, a hideout in the woods. Some might have even braved the Wilds. There would be no spy here to take the message.

  Her neck ached, but her jaw was being rubbed raw by the yoke, so she tried to keep her chin high. It was better to look up at the sky than stare at the dirt anyway, for the sky above her, although dirtied by the smoke, was still blue. About her, the tops of many trees had turned with autumn color. It was a glorious day, and they were walking along a beautiful stretch of road flanked by meadow and the woods beyond. Four flocks of geese honked overhead, their long V formations trailing in the sky as they made their way south.

  Oh, to be a bird, she thought, and fly away over the mountains. She imagined how it would have been had she, Legs, Mother, and Da been able to fly away and find a pond in some land that never felt the chill of winter. Some place that didn’t care if you knew the lore.

  Her spirits lifted for a moment. Perhaps that was where Mother and Da were right now. Perhaps their souls had flown away to some safe glen away from the skir and howlers. She and Legs would not follow, but at least Mother and Da would find peace.

  She prayed to each of the Six. She prayed to her ancestors, prayed thanks for her few years, even though she doubted anyone heard. And as she was praying, something flashed in the woods.

  She looked closer, and suddenly a swarm of arrows streaked out of the trees and over the swath of meadow. One struck the wagon driver in his neck. He dropped the reins and clutched at the shaft sticking through his throat. Other arrows struck the two dreadmen walking ahead of the wagon. Sugar could not see behind her, but heard someone cry out.

  The Mokaddian fistman shouted and jumped from the wagon seat and took cover behind the wagon. He brought his horn to his lips and blew a loud distress call. He blew it again, the blast sounding into the sky. The Fir-Noy patrol and any others in the area would hear. The fistman reached into the bed of the wagon for a bow and shouted for the others in his fist to get behind the captives with him.

  A few more arrows flew out of the wood, and then thirty, maybe thirty-five men followed, charging out into the swath of meadow. Their faces and arms were daubed with war paint, turning them ghastly gray. They wore a motley collection of colors and armor, but upon each chest was a white V with a slash through it.

  Who were these men that marked themselves as sleth?

  Sugar peered at the large man running at their head. At first she didn’t recognize him because of the war paint. But then she couldn’t mistake him. Praise the Six! It was Soddam running at the front, war axe in hand. Two paces to his right was Urban. Following behind were a number of others she did not recognize but had to be part of his crew.

  Urban’s men roared. A number of the captives murmured in fear. The Mokaddian dreadmen guarding Sugar and the others turned and lowered their weapons, but the fistman ordered his men to retreat, and the seven dreadmen guards raced for the trees on the opposite side of the road.

  The mules pulling the wagon startled into a trot. The captives tried to keep up, but one of the men yoked in a two-man yoke stumbled and fell, taking the other man with him to the ground. The man behind cried out as he tried to prevent his neck from breaking.

  The wagon continued forward, the others in t
he line fighting to keep their balance, but the two fallen men forced another man to stumble. He pulled on the man in front of him, who pulled on the one in front of him. Then the whole line wavered and toppled into the dirt and started to drag behind wagon, the men clutching the ropes and iron collars about their necks. Sugar and the man carrying the tongue of her yoke struggled to keep up with the other line.

  Urban’s crew swarmed around the captives. One of Urban’s men jumped up onto the wagon seat, took the reins, and halted the mules. Others rushed past and began to shoot arrows at the fleeing dreadmen.

  The rest began cutting through the ropes holding the captives. Soddam fished around in a box up by the wagon seat, found a manacle hammer, then rushed down the line to Sugar.

  “You came,” she said, tears rising in her eyes, almost unwilling to believe.

  “You’re one of mine,” Soddam said. “I vowed I would never let another one of mine die again. Now hold still while I knock this pin out.”

  He struck the pin holding the iron bolt that spanned the forks. He struck it again, and it fell to the ground. Then he pulled the bolt out and flung the yoke away from her.

  She could not help herself, but turned and embraced him, her face barely coming up to his chest.

  “Now,” he said, giving her a quick fatherly squeeze. “No time for that. Not with murderers all about us.”

  She looked up into his ghastly face. “Flax is the traitor,” she said. “He’s a Guardian of Mokad. We must tell Shim.”

  He handed her a knife and motioned at the captives. “Cut them loose.” Then he moved to the one man still alive in the two-man yoke lying on the ground.

  Sugar gingerly felt her neck and jaw where the yoke had damaged it, then began cutting others loose. She had freed two men when Urban called out, “That patrol’s coming back!”

  Sugar turned. The captives that had been bound by ropes were mostly free. Those bound with chains and iron collars were not. However, they were free from the chains binding them to the back of the wagon. Urban ordered Soddam to give a large man who’d already been freed the hammer. “Get into the woods,” Urban said. “We’ll try to draw them after us.”

  The captives fled, chains clinking, ropes trailing.

  Urban turned to his men. “Harry them with arrows from the tree line, and then we’ll run.”

  “Captain!” one of the men shouted in warning.

  Urban turned. The first of the mounted Fir-Noy patrol came around the bend in the road ahead. They were coming at a fast canter.

  “Move!” Urban shouted, and he and the others ran for the woods.

  Sugar did not follow. She dashed to the wagon, looked for the wrapped red lacquered box, and found it lying on the floor behind the buckboard. She picked it up and only then raced for the trees.

  Soddam saw her and turned back. “Lords, girl! I didn’t save you so you could get yourself killed again.”

  She sprinted to join him, and then they both ran to the woods.

  Farther down the tree line, the first of the captives reached the trees. A shout rose from the Fir-Noy riders, and they kicked their horses into a full gallop. Their spears shone in the sun, their banners streamed. A few dozen split off from the main group to chase after the captives that had made it to the trees. The rest charged after Urban and his crew.

  Sugar ran for the woods. Farther back, the hooves of the Fir-Noy horses thudded over the turf. However, about twenty of Urban’s men were already in position with bows and began shooting arrows into the Fir-Noy.

  Soddam took a few more paces. “Hurry!”

  “I can’t multiply,” she said.

  “Urban!” he shouted. “She’s got a king’s collar!”

  At the tree line, Urban’s men were firing arrows. The Fir-Noy arrows whispered back. Urban broke from the line and ran to where she and Soddam stood. He looked down at her, fingered the collar’s clasp.

  Moments later Sugar felt a sharp sting around her throat. Then the presence she’d forgotten was there retreated. Relief flooded her. The doors of her soul still felt numb, but she was free!

  “They put one on Oaks,” she said and reached for her Fire, but she couldn’t find it.

  “Back by twos!” Urban shouted. Half of the crew retreated from the tree line and took up positions a number of yards inside the woods.

  The shaft of an arrow brushed past, just missing her hand.

  “Take the point,” Urban called.

  She and Soddam ran ahead, but she couldn’t multiply herself and keep up, so Soddam threw her over his shoulder and ran. Arrows skittered in the woods about her, glancing off branches and trees. One last arrow sped by, tore through some leaves, then sank into the trunk of a tree on her left. She and Soddam ran deeper.

  The horses and spears would do the Fir-Noy patrol very little good in the woods. Urban’s men already had the advantage of speed and mobility. The trees would only increase it. She suspected the Fir-Noy knew this, for they did not follow. Soon the rest of the crew caught up to her and Soddam.

  Sugar hoped most of the captives escaped, but she couldn’t help them. She and Urban’s men needed to get to Shim. She raised her voice and explained who Flax was so all the men could hear just in case she didn’t make it. Then they set off again, running over the rills and gullies and around brambles, careful of their footing and the branches. After jogging a mile or two, the woods thinned, and the men stopped and looked at the smoke-filled sky.

  Soddam put her down. “Mokad must be burning scores of villages.”

  Urban said, “Most of it is the Shoka burning their own homes and stores behind them as they flee. Shim’s on the move as well. He’s striking into Fir-Noy territory.”

  Sugar turned to him. “I thought you had a crew and wise decisions to make.”

  “Soddam can be very . . . persuasive,” he said.

  She was so grateful to them all. “How did you find me?”

  “News of sleth girls who attack Skir Masters travels fast and wide. Yesterday, a crier went out to all the towns between Blue Towers and Whitecliff announcing that you and a few other sleth would be coming through. We felt a bit miffed about being left out of the parade.”

  “Did the crier say anything about Legs?”

  “He isn’t with Shim?”

  “Flax suggested he had him.”

  Urban said, “I’ll wager Flax is with Shim.”

  “Then let’s get to Shim’s army,” she said.

  16

  Upon the Lion

  IT WAS WELL past dawn when the Long Stings steered their water craft made of hides and thick bundles of grass toward the south bank of the Lion. When they were close to the shore, Talen and the others jumped out into the cold water and helped haul the craft up onto the land. Not too far ahead, the powerful river thundered over The Gap, a wide falls that separated woodikin and human lands. A fine mist from the falls rose from the other side and wet the towering border obelisk that stood up the shore on one side of the falls.

  The three Long Sting boatmen conversed with Chot. Then the conversation ended, and all three licked a finger with their tongue and held it up. Chot did the same. Then the three Long Stings walked up the slope and disappeared into the trees.

  “Where are they going?” asked River.

  “This is not their fight,” said Harnock.

  “So we’re on foot then?” Talen asked.

  Harnock said, “I think we’ll make faster time if we portage the craft around the falls and ride the Lion a bit longer while you survey the countryside. We don’t know where Shim’s army is and so don’t know where we’re going yet.”

  Chot eyed the obelisk and falls, then pointed at River, Harnock, and Talen in turn. “You have agreed with the queen.”

  “There will be many skinmen at war,” Harnock said. “There will be danger. You do not need to come. We ha
ve agreed with the queen. We will honor our agreement.”

  “Ssa,” Chot said and waved Harnock off. “You die. And agreement is no good. We will keep the shallog and the female safe.”

  “Good,” said Harnock. “You’ll also make it easier to portage this boat.”

  Chot grunted at two of his warriors. One ran up the slope and disappeared down the trail ahead. The other turned to face their rear. Talen sent two roamlings out to do his own scouting from above.

  “Everyone take a handle,” Harnock said.

  Those who had woven the craft had also included a number of rope handles. Chot and the two remaining woodikin took those in the front. Talen and River took those at the back.

  “You’re not going to help?” Talen asked.

  “I’m watching the road,” Harnock replied. “Now lift.”

  The small crew hefted the boat, then followed the well-worn trail that ran alongside the river. Clearly others had portaged water craft around this falls. About a hundred yards farther, the trail veered south over rocky ground, and another obelisk appeared in the distance to the south. They followed this new direction and soon came to a cairn as tall as a man that marked the border between human and woodikin lands. All of the woodikin spat as they passed it. From there, the trail continued maybe a quarter mile south of the falls, then descended a steep slope.

  It was on the slope that they saw the smoke. It hung like a haze over the clan lands. It was being fed in part by a number of fat columns of dark smoke rising in the distance.

  “They’ve begun burning the villages then,” Harnock said.

  “What does that mean?” Talen asked.

  “It means we’re late; the fighting has already started. It also might mean Shim and Argoth have already fallen.”

  Talen wanted to get higher with his roamlings, but a cluster of large gray skir were on the mountainside, pecking at a slope of scree, twisting like snakes. Talen had no idea what they were doing—perhaps feeding? He didn’t know if they were dangerous, and he didn’t dare risk sending his roamlings higher to extend his view of the clan lands. So he descended the slope, hoping he’d be able to get a better view later. The troop found a trail at the bottom of the slope that was flat and relatively easy going. It didn’t take long before the odd company was slipping the woodikin boat back into the river below the falls.