The Shaman Read online

  “To what purpose?” Ohaern replied. “We would only have taken a small number of the Klaja, and there is no point in that. They are not the enemy.”

  A chorus of protest answered him. “Not the enemy? They have slain our people, they have destroyed our village! If they are not the enemy, who is?”

  “The one who drives them,” Manalo answered, “and the one who drives the driver. Ohaern speaks truth. The Klaja are tools, and unwilling ones at that; I doubt that any of them has even the ghost of a notion of choice, between obedience and death at the Ulharl’s hands. Ulahane warped the union of jackal and human to bear fruit; Ulahane made them; Ulahane drives the Ulharl who drive the Klaja. It is with Ulahane that your quarrel lies, not with his poor victims.”

  The glade fell silent, each Biri glancing at his neighbor, then away, feeling the touch of terror in his vitals. “Who can fight a god?” Glabur whispered. “Who could dare to go up against Ulahane?”

  “A fool mad for revenge,” Ohaern answered, “and such a fool am I. Who will go with me to strike against the Scarlet One?”

  The clearing held in silence, the Biriae staring at the big smith as if he had taken leave of his senses.

  “Remember,” said Manalo, “that the powers of Lomallin and Ulahane are equal, and locked in balance. It is mortal folk who may decide the issue, whether they be Klaja or human or Ulharl—and the Ulharl may be very hard to kill, but they do die.”

  “Then if we wish to strike against Ulahane,” Glabur said, “ought we not to strike against his mortal minions?”

  “So we must,” Ohaern agreed. “Where is he strongest in human followers?”

  The Biriae muttered and shifted, for they all knew the answer. Finally, Dalvan spoke it aloud. “In Kuru,” he said, “for that is the Scarlet One’s citadel.”

  “You have spoken well and truly,” Ohaern answered grimly, “and therefore shall I go up against Kuru. Who will go with me?”

  Chapter 12

  There was no silence, not a moment’s hesitation; fifty voices cried, “I!” with a savagery that surprised even Ohaern. But it braced him and set him a broad smile. “Well, then, we go, we who are left of the Clan of the Hawk!”

  “There may be others who fled, and hid so well we could not find them,” said one of the grizzled veterans. “Oh, I pray to Lomallin, let it be so!”

  “Let it be so,” Ohaern agreed, “but if it is, they are so well hid that even we could not find them.”

  “Pray the Klaja will not find them either!” the veteran cried.

  “I shall,” Ohaern told him, “so that the clan may not die. But to better their chances, let us give Ulahane a greater concern. Southward! We march to the river, and ride it to Kuru!”

  The men answered with a ferocious shout and followed the smith—a smith no longer, but a war chief now.

  Lucoyo strode with searing anger and hatred rekindled: the anger he had felt for the clan that had reared him, redoubled and double-heated now, but directed at Ulahane. How temeritous of a man to assail a god! How impossible a task, how hopeless! But how else was he to find any meaning in life, or any reason for living?

  As for Ohaern, he forced his steps, hiding the deep and bitter depression that dragged at his heels and bade him he down and wait for death, for Ryl was no more, and the child she had birthed, Ohaern’s son, was lost with the rest of the clan, probablylost in death, never to be seen in the world again. He had never even named the babe! Yes, Ohaern had indeed a strong grievance against Ulahane—and no other reason to live.

  Unlike Lucoyo, though, it never occurred to him to think of attacking a god as arrogance. He only knew that Ulahane was the true source of his misery, and must suffer for it as Ryl had suffered—and, more importantly, that the Scarlet One must be eliminated, or humanity would never be happy again. Indeed, if Ulahane lived, humanity would die.

  The question was whether humanity could be saved. From what Manalo had been telling him, more and more people were devoting themselves and their lives to Ulahane, out of greed or due to false promises, and they very well might overwhelm the good folk, who were dedicated to Lomallin. Ohaern set his face toward the south, determined to find out for himself just how much evil there was in the world, and how much good to set against it. Unlike other men who have undertaken that quest, he had a very practical reason.

  Of one thing he was certain: the evil of the city of Kuru must not be allowed to persist.

  When they stopped to rest at midday, Ohaern asked, “Where are we bound for on our first stage, Teacher? To the river, surely—but where shall that river take us?”

  “To Cashalo,” Manalo answered. “It is a city two hundred leagues from Kuru, but which is loyal to Lomallin and has thus far held steady against Ulahane and his minions. There are many cities in the south, and only a few have fallen to the worship of the Scarlet One. When you come to any city, be circumspect until you have discovered to which Ulin it is devoted. Some, such as Cashalo, will shelter you for no better reason than that you are strangers who might wish to trade, or to work among them.”

  “But none will shelter us for being Ulahane’s enemies?” Lucoyo asked.

  Manalo smiled sadly. “Alas, no—they may not worship Ulahane, but they fear him. And be wary of thinking of yourselves as Ulahane’s enemies, archer.”

  “Yes, I know,” Lucoyo said sourly. “Are the flies who seek to drink my blood my enemies? Are mice? Surely I am theirs—but are they dangerous enough to be mine?”

  “Say, rather, the serpent who sinks his fangs into your flesh,” Ohaern returned, “who bites your heel even as you seek to crush him with your foot!”

  The Biriae rumbled agreement, but Manalo shook his head. “Do not embrace the viper in your hearts, O Biriae. Remember that your totem is the hawk, who strikes boldly and suddenly, and does not slink upon you in secret. Be mindful that the hawk pounces on prey—he does not seek revenge.”

  “But how can we do anything else?” Ohaern erupted. “We, who have lost all we love because of Ulahane’s malice!”

  “You can wipe out a menace,” Manalo replied, “as you would slay a rabid wolf. But do not feed your hate, or dote on vengeance, for then is Ulahane in your heart, and you are half swayed to the Scarlet One even by your own hatred for him. If you must slay his slaves and his servants, do so to ensure that they will not slay more innocents, not to slake your thirst for vengeance.”

  “But if a man has hurt me,” Lucoyo said, “I must hurt him in return, so that he will know not to hurt me again!”

  “Ulahane will ensure that there are always more who seek to hurt you, no matter how many hurts you give in return,” said Manalo. “He hates you for no better reason than that you are human—even you, Lucoyo, for he hates all the younger races almost as much as he hates humankind. No, revenge against Ulahane and his pawns will not lessen his will to hurt and slay you and your kind—but it will lead you into his power.”

  Ohaern scowled. “You do not mean that lust for revenge on Ulahane will make us his worshipers!”

  “No,” said Manalo, “but it will give him a handle by which to grasp you, and once having a hold on you, he will draw you in, to slay you.”

  “So.” Lucoyo leaned forward, brow wrinkled with the effort of understanding. “We should fight Ulahane’s creatures because they are a threat, not because we wish to punish them, or are angry at them.”

  “Even so,” said the sage.

  “We are not to strike in anger, or in hatred, or because they have hurt us.”

  Manalo nodded. “Evil motives against evil enemies ensure evil results. If you wish to defeat Ulahane, you must not use his weapons, or they will turn in your hands, turn against you and cut you apart.”

  “Well, I can accept that,” the half-elf sighed, leaning back. “It rankles, mind you—it will go hard, but I shall manage it.

  At the last, I care not why I kill Ulahane’s creatures—so long as they die.”

  “That will have to suffice.” Manalo hid a sm
ile of amusement. He rose and addressed himself to the clan. “Come; we must be on the road again. If you go up against Kuru, you must begin by visiting the most northerly of the southern cities—Cashalo—for there you will find ships and captains that can take you to the eastern lands far more quickly than you can walk.”

  “Cashalo?” Dalvan frowned. “I have heard of that city. But how shall we find our way?”

  “You have but to journey down the Mashra River; it will take you into the heart of the city itself.”

  “Up and away, then!” Ohaern came to his feet. “If the road to Kuru begins at Cashalo, then to Cashalo we go!”

  “It is time to divide into small bands, though,” Manalo told him, “for so large a force as ours will be noticed by Ulahane’s sentries, and he will send his creatures against us. Divide yourselves into bands of three and four, and journey to Cashalo separately.”

  “But will we not then be easy meat for any Klaja or wicked men?” cried Lucoyo, dismayed.

  “The Klaja will not trouble themselves for so few,” said Manalo, “for their Ulharl drives them toward one particular goal that his master has set him, and only that one. As to bandits and enemy tribes, have you never dealt with them before?”

  “Aye,” Glabur said slowly. “We hide when we can, and fight when we must.”

  “So you must do again. Believe me, there is little to fear— none will take you for a threat when there are so few, but there are enough to give pause to any who might wish to prey upon the weak. Go to Cashalo as secretly as you can, but do not skulk so obviously as to arouse suspicion. Meet there, and rally to Ohaern. Choose your traveling companions and go by different roads.”

  Lucoyo lingered, reluctant to push himself onto any of the groups, but wishing ardently that some would invite him. It seemed none would—Glabur and Dalvan united with two other Biriae, and all around him others joined in threes and fours, by bonds of kinship or long-standing friendships. But before everyone had clustered, Ohaern beckoned the half-elf to him. Lucoyo’s heart leaped—did he truly have a friend? He went.

  “You shall travel with us, archer,” Ohaern told him. “I need your nimble wits and nimbler hands, and with my bulk to back you, we should be unbeatable.”

  Lucoyo grinned, sensing genuine liking beneath the excuse. “Why, thank you, smith! I will be glad indeed of the protection of your hammer! But with whom do we travel?”

  “With me,” said Manalo. “Or will that make you uneasy, Lucoyo?”

  The half-elf looked up at him slowly, and admitted frankly, “A little—but I shall master it. Where do we wander, O Sage?”

  They wandered to the west, away from the path and between the great trees—but they left last, watching the other dozen bands go off one by one, each waiting, chatting and resting, until the one before it was a goodly distance ahead. Three went by the path; three to the east through the forest and toward the river; four to the south and southeast, to circle around and find the stream; and three to the north, to swing down to the flood in their own turn. Only Manalo, Ohaern, and Lucoyo went west, to take the longest circle and come last to the river, so that they might catch up and aid any who might come to grief.

  “The Klaja will have a merry time trying to track this band, if they seek to,” Lucoyo said with a grin. “Why do we wait?”

  “For magic.” Ohaern pointed at Manalo, who leaned upon his staff, looking back at the campsite and singing softly as he watched. Lucoyo frowned, watching, too, wondering what the sage was up to now. He waited and waited, growing more and more impatient, and was about to demand they leave when he saw a small animal come hesitantly from the far edge of the clearing. It was a stoat, and another joined it from another quarter, then another and another. They came forward, meeting in the center of the clearing. The sage nodded, murmuring, encouraging. The little creatures looked up at him, then at one another, then began to spread their scent all over the clearing and back into the trees.

  Manalo turned away to join the two Biriae, chuckling. “Let the Klaja try to track our bands by scent raw!”

  “I could almost feel sorry for them.” Lucoyo wrinkled his nose, trying to fan away the rancid, musky smell.

  “I could indeed,” Ohaern agreed, “if I did not remember what they would do to one of our bands if they found them. Where did you learn that trick, Teacher?”

  “That is a story in itself, and too long to tell now,” Manalo said. “But the spell is short, and worth learning. Repeat the words after me, and I will tell you their meaning.”

  He began to recite syllables that seemed like nonsense to Lucoyo, and that would not stick in his mind, even when the sage explained their meaning in an ancient tongue—but Ohaern scowled in furious concentration and nodded again and again, repeating the syllables perfectly time after time, until Manalo was satisfied that he had memorized them. Lucoyo stared at the smith with surprise, and not a little awe. What manner of man was this? He was supposed to be merely a hunk of muscle, with a brain that worked only for hunting, fighting, and forging weapons! Was it possible that a man could be more than he seemed—more, perhaps, than even he himself knew?

  In mid-afternoon they came out of the forest and into a rough land of rocky outcrops, low bushes, and tough grass. Lucoyo looked about him and shivered. “What place is this, Teacher?”

  “The Hard Country,” Manalo replied, “and though none live here, it is a sacred place to many tribes.”

  “Sacred?” Lucoyo looked up, startled. “How could so bleak a place be sacred to any?”

  “It has a rough beauty all its own,” Manalo answered, “though that is easier to see at sunrise and sunset than it is now. Wait until we come to higher ground and look about you.”

  Lucoyo followed. He was willing to wait, but he doubted he would see anything to glory in.

  They wound their way up a rocky trail, and Ohaern found himself wondering who had worn this pathway in the rock and hard-packed earth, if none lived here. Surely there could not be so many wild tribesmen wandering this land as to leave trails!

  They came out onto the top, and Manalo stopped them with an upraised hand, suddenly tense. Ohaern and Lucoyo looked up—and saw them, rank upon rank of bleached rough human forms, like those a mother makes from a dough of meal and water to amuse little children. Their heads were devoid of hair, they were so lumpy that they seemed to have no joints, and their hands were rough mitten shapes with no fingers. Their feet were long lumps, and for faces they had only two pock-marks for eyes, another where a nose should be, and a slash for a mouth. But those mitten hands held clubs and primitive spears, sticks shaved to a point and hardened in fire, lethal for all their rudeness.

  “What are they, Teacher?” Ohaern asked.

  “The homunculi Agrapax made for Ulahane,” Manalo answered, his aspect somber, “and whom Lomallin fought to free.”

  The gashes of mouths yawned open to issue a warbling wail, and the homunculi charged.

  “Archer, your bow!” Ohaern cried as he drew his sword. As Lucoyo strung his bow, Ohaern leaped in front of Manalo and slashed in a frenzy—but every wound that opened in the dough bodies failed to bleed, or even to show muscle and veins. Instead it showed inside only what was outside—bland flesh—and the wounds closed, healing even as Ohaern cut again. The pointed sticks, though, scored his chest and arms, and the clubs struck bruising blows on his arms and legs. The homunculi were not strong enough for any one blow they dealt to break a bone, but they struck the same places again and again . ..

  Lucoyo dropped to one knee, nocking an arrow, and loosed. It lanced into a dough-man who was swinging a club, and threw the swing off just enough so that it missed Ohaern— but the homunculus did not drop his weapon, nor cry out in anything but anger. Lucoyo followed the first shaft with another that skewered the homunculus through the center of the chest, if a chest it was—but the dough-man did not even notice. He only swung his club again, and this time it struck Ohaern’s head. He staggered and fell.

  With a keen
ing cry, Lucoyo dropped his bow and sprang to stand over Ohaern’s body, drawing his long knife and bracing himself for the onslaught of the homunculi—but Manalo stood forth between the host of pale bodies and the fallen chieftain, holding his hands up and crying out in an ancient tongue. The clumsy advance slowed and halted. The leader of the homunculi replied in the same incomprehensible syllables, and from the intonation, it seemed to be a question. Manalo answered, and the leader—or perhaps the one to his left, or the one to his right, or two or three away; they looked identical to Ohaern and Lucoyo—responded with a statement. Manalo answered at some length, and Lucoyo began to grow impatient. Ohaern must have seen the signs of it, for he said, “Patience, archer. His words are our best shield now.” He made to sit up—and a dozen homunculi raised their weapons at his first movement, but held them still as he continued to rise, very, very slowly.

  Manalo turned to speak down to them. “The homunculi understand now why you thought they attacked you. For their part, they could not understand why you seemed to be attacking them.”

  “Our apologies, then,” Ohaern said. “It is not good for those who could be friends to fight one another.”

  Manalo spoke to the homunculi, and there was general muttering, in thin and tinny voices, with nods of agreement.

  “Do nods mean the same to them that they do to us?” Lucoyo asked.

  “Yes,” Manalo told him, “and that is what they mean— ‘yes,’ or in this case, agreement and acceptance.”

  Ohaern began to stand. Again the homunculi braced their weapons, but did not strike. Slowly, he regained his feet. “Archer, give me an arrow.”

  “I thought we did not intend to fight them.” But Lucoyo passed him an arrow anyway—then bit back a cry of alarm as Ohaern gave the shaft to one of the homunculi. They made noises of approval, and the leader presented his spear to Ohaern, making a long, metallic-sounding speech.

  “He thanks you for your gift,” Manalo said, “and gives you one in return. He realizes that by giving him the means of wounding, you have shown trust in him, so he now shows trust in you.”