Chapter 15: To Determine Destiny

 

To Determine Destiny: Chapter 15

“We’re surrounded,” Skinner said quietly, casually to Orexmor.

“I know,” Orexmor smiled tightly as though appreciating a personal joke.

“Where to from here?” Skinner glanced sideways, wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Break!” Orexmor sent his men about their usual tasks, casting a nearly imperceptible look at each of the men he knew well. They set about sipping water and refreshing the animals as though they had nothing to worry about.

Skinner shrugged and dismounted. He patted the pony and cooed to it for a moment before bending to stretch his aching muscles. Klem took care of the ponies while Koryn worked on Skinner’s guweg armor. Skinner, meanwhile, made his way to a large round stone to the left of the road and warned the party loudly to avoid it as it appeared to be some sort of evil force that would bring the plague on them. He made a big show of chanting and dancing around the stone until Koryn called him over for another fitting of the guweg armor.

“Good,” Skinner nodded, looking around as though in bug-eyed paranoia. “Now fetch them volvang arrows of mine so’s I kin shoot down the stars. Git now, afore I beatcha ‘gain.”

“Oh no, Master,” Koryn stared at him for a moment, perplexed. “For the desert’s sake, Master, don’t shoot down the moon, Master.”

Klem stared for a moment, braiding the tail on Skinner’s pony for the third time since Vurkhatan. He flinched histrionically as Skinner flashed him an angry look, and then went to the supply wagon shared by the vanguard to soothe his fellow slave. Skinner danced and chanted like a berserk wizard until the young men approached him with obsequious bows and pleaded with him to leave the constellations. Klem held out a pair of steel bracers like an offering. Skinner made a show of putting them on and slapping him because they were not snug enough.

“No. No! Master!” Koryn cried out, cringing with tears in his eyes. “Not the lash again! I have brought your arrows—see—and the kulu-horn bow you took from the bright god of the western Teeth.”

“Do not tell them!” Skinner roared, striking Koryn so hard he rolled under the supply wagon.

“Mind that temper old man,” Orexmor growled, glaring at Skinner as though frustrated yet fearful. “You’ll have the hills down on us for that thunderous voice. How can we skirt the Vurhk with all that noise?”

“Go stick a spear in that rock, Orexmor,” Skinner growled threateningly. “If ya got virtue enough, ‘haps it’ll keep the demons a’bay.”

“Demons?” Orexmor looked around as though frightened. “Surely not before dark.”

“Not if ya do as I tell ya,” Skinner squinted at him as though distrustful. Those not familiar with the two men stared at them in open consternation.

“You men,” Orexmor growled at them. “Go to the rear and check your blades. Me an’ the old chanter here have some business.”

“The spear!” Skinner growled, his eyes flashing a warning. He looked up at the sky as a dark bank of clouds moved into the foothills. He split his attention between the clouds and what was going on around him as he began to dance and chant again, telling Orexmor he would dance the rain away to flood their enemies.

Meanwhile, Orexmor grabbed one of Skinner’s spears and wedged it into the hard dirt beneath the stone Skinner claimed was cursed. Subtle as he was, his men noticed as he adjusted his ringed leather armor while striding around as though reasserting authority lost to the strange old man.

Skinner danced faster, chanting and frolicking madly. Orexmor strode casually about, tapping certain of his men on the shoulder and pointing to slovenly dress here and there. Klem had disappeared. Koryn was rocking back and forth as though in a spasm of pain and fear where he had fallen under the wagon. Skinner danced and hooted as the sky darkened.

Someone screamed somewhere over the hill from the Vurhkatans. Skinner’s chant climaxed. He stood stone-still in the center of the road, his hands raised to the clouds. Lightning arced down to strike the spear and kick the round stone into the air. A distant thrum and swoosh was followed a second later by a darker shadow. Everything seemed to fall into slow motion.

Skinner rolled several yards, coming up into a kneeling position with his bow in his hands. The round stone he had caused the lightning to strike rose six feet off the ground and hovered. Orexmor and his men scattered toward the hills, seemingly in panic. Koryn was suddenly on his knee beside the wagon, firing arrows rapidly from a short recurve-bow.

A volley of arrows flowed smoothly over the hillside, but then swerved like a swarm of bees and sailed straight at the hovering stone. A Diahlarite spotter was knocked from his vantage as two arrows with blunt, stone points struck him in the chest. The air filled with shouts and bellows of alarm, surprise, and attack. A second volley of arrows, this one much smaller, hissed over the hilltop.

Mayhem ensued over the next half hour. Several of the Vurkhatans, who had snuck around the hill under cover of Skinner’s antics, ambushed the Diahlarite archers. After the failure of two considerably heavy barrages of arrows had failed, stuck to the floating stone like metal shavings to a magnet, the Diahlarites sent their cavalry in only to realize how narrow the valley was here. The smaller force was ready and in a highly defensible area; the Vurkhatans turned surprise to their side and pushed their attackers back in three separate assaults.

By the time the forces separated, Skinner was tending several wounded with a salve he mixed from the herbs he had bartered from Garrathol.

W          W          W

“Well,” Skinner told Orexmor later, “we know much more now.”

“Tell that to the boys’ mothers,” Orexmor grumbled, rubbing his bandages ribs.

“Time for that later,” Skinner said grimly. “We need to focus on solving the problem before we can mourn over its complications and costs.”

“Right,” Orexmor squinted at him in the soft light of Skinner’s luminorbs. “Used to saving grief for the land. Not to losing my lads on the land . . .”

Klem brought the last report in, bowing stiffly as he left the tent. Skinner watched him hawkishly, knowing the youth was making light of the wounds he had gotten over the course of the afternoon.

“We have more arrows than we started with,” Orexmor chuckled softly. “That’s a good thing. We have a wagPlease No Javascript more armor to size into as well.”

“My boys are taking care of that,” Skinner said dismissively. “We’re going to need a source for water. Any of your scouts found anything yet?”

“Not a trickle,” Orexmor handed him a tablet to look over.

“Good food sources,” Skinner mumbled, checking through the compiled reports of their resources. “We can stick around until winter at least—once we figure out our water situation. We need to break up into cells, though, before we get slaughtered.

“Next time I may not—”

“How did you know about the ambush?” Orexmor raised his eyebrows.

“How did you?” Skinner’s eyes narrowed, searching Orexmor’s face.

“Carrion birds and skinks,” Orexmor shrugged.

“Griffon told me,” Skinner shrugged.

“Right,” Orexmor grinned, unsure whether to believe him.

“Truth,” Skinner smiled. “That and a shadow in the back of my mind that laughs any time I’m in mortal danger . . .”

“Might want to have the Tribes cast that out,” Orexmor slapped his shoulder, insinuating that Skinner should be exorcised.

“Fascinating consideration,” Skinner frowned starkly for a moment before shrugging and picking up a guweg game bag.

“Going somewhere?” Orexmor stared at him.

“Commune with the griffon,” Skinner said mystically. “And find us a hidey-hole with a pond in it.”

W          W          W

Here is what you seek, Breena’s stream of images led Skinner to a box canyon about a mile and a half from where the vanguard was camped. She had scouted during the day, but refused to fly in the dark knowing that the drastyn hunted nearby.

How far can a drastyn see? Skinner asked her, making his way over a strenuous rock path and into a narrow pass between stone walls that converged into a single seam some thirty feet above.

Too far! About three times as far as I can—on land, anyway. Sea air is clearer, but the mists seem to haze their sight over open water. Thankful for us.

Skinner made it to the place she had led him to find a box canyon enclosed with in-leaning walls of stone from twenty feet at their lowest to over seventy feet tall. The floor of the canyon was littered with stone, sand, and shale over stone bedrock worn smooth by old water flow.

Where’s the water? He asked the griffon.

That’s your skillset, her voice tinkled with mist and silver—laughter, he realized.

“Inbred feline-hinded vulture,” he muttered fondly, searching the scrub brush for sticks worthy of duty as divining rods.

Why not summon your staff?

“There’s at least one powerful sorcerer with the other army,” he muttered. “Or among the Vurhk. And since I don’t know . . . the staff rings like a bell when I use it. Been hearing the others using theirs all day.”

And summoning lightning didn’t alert them?

“Put the shakes to them, I’ll bet,” he said, keeping his voice low enough that anyone not listening for it would not overhear. “That’s good old druid juju, mostly. Doesn’t send a message like sorcery.

“Besides, a subtle practitioner can weave a great deal more quietly than ahashma.”

What is that word? Breena’s voice had shadows of doubt now. Much the same shade as when she spoke of the drastyn.

“Demons use it,” Skinner shrugged. “Means charlatan or faker. It’s an accusation of lacking skill, strength, and/or talent.”

Why speak as demons do?

“Habit,” Skinner said shortly, his tone full of vexation. He grabbed a branch and snapped it deftly into a ‘Y’ shape and began to go over the ground with it held before him.

“Here,” Skinner knelt and stared at the smooth stone, a frown creasing his brow. “I could drill. But that’s a waste of time. More druidry, then.”

W          W          W

“Welcome,” Skinner bowed to a small group of locals, Vurkhadhari, as they made their way through the narrow passageway into what the Vurkhatans were now calling Skinner’s Gorge.

“We welcome you,” the Vurhk leader bowed, driving his point with a meaningful stare.

“Thank you,” Skinner smiled, offering, via Klem, a platter of earthenware glasses filled with cold water.

“You know hospitality,” the dhari nodded appreciation.

“I am Skinner,” Skinner held his hand out.

“Yes, you are known among the Vurhk. I am Zhen-Zoon of the Zoon Vurhk,” he pressed Skinner’s hand in the Vurhk fashion.

“Enough pleasantries, if you please.” Orexmor pressed hands with Zhen-Zoon, nodding curtly and attempting a smile.

“We have seen you perish,” Orexmor said quietly. “And you have seen us perish. Both at the hands of those from the City of the Sun.”

“It is so,” Zhen-Zoon nodded. He smiled brightly and pulled a flask from somewhere inside his sandy robes.

“Wine?” Skinner smiled boyishly, his eyes alight with pleasure. He had already grabbed it and begun to poor by the time Zoon nodded.

“Your enemy is our enemy,” Orexmor continued, shooting Skinner a venomous glance that had become nearly customary any time they began a conversation.

“Yes,” Zhen-Zoon sipped wine and looked around as though for something that should have been there for him.

“Come now, Rexy,” Skinner teased the tall commander. “If we want to save civilization, we have to abide its niceties—and observe them.

“Fellows of the Vurhk, enemy of our enemy, will you sit with us? We have come to call you friend and ally if you will have it said.”

Orexmor blushed and motioned for camp seats to be brought up. He motioned for food, but Skinner stayed him with a glance. They sat in a circle around a banked fire and made themselves comfortable. Orexmor waited for a sign from Skinner, unaccustomed to dealing with anyone who was not in a hurry to take care of business and get to the next matter.

“I have known only one other of the Vurhk,” Skinner mused, fully enjoying the flavor and feel of the wine.

“You have known one of us?” Zhen-Zoon seemed surprised.

“Yes,” Skinner smiled wanly. “He tried to inherit his legacy to me.”

“His legacy?” Zhen-Zoon looked interested and less aloof than any of them had appeared before. “No Vurhk would thrust his legacy—”

“Upon a roundear?” Skinner laughed dismissively. “Kreátha had no such arrogance when I met him. Perhaps his time with the Order taught him humility.”

“You mis-anticipate me,” Zhen-Zoon sat back, smiling softly. “He would endow his legacy, but never would a Vurhk—”

“One possessed by a Quien would,” Skinner cut in, wondering at himself for the rudeness.

“Indeed?” Zhen-Zoon stood and advanced on him. “And you know of his possession how?”

“I cleansed him,” Skinner stood, his face thrust confrontationally toward the dhari’s, though the dhari stood a couple inches taller even than Orexmor.

“Then you have no reason to block me,” Zhen-Zoon said dangerously.

“I value my privacy.” Skinner smiled suddenly and tossed himself back into the camp seat.

“You will concede to my searching,” Zhen-Zoon stood over him now. Suddenly a halo of two dozen luminorbs orbited the Vurhk’s head.

“Nice crown,” Skinner’s voice was full of awe, but his eyes remained stony. “It won’t get you admission into the theatre of my memory, though.”

A dozen luminorbs flashed into orbits around the heads of each of three of the other Vuhrkadhari. They joined Zhen-Zoon to stand over Skinner, melding their orbs. Skinner felt their combined pressure pushing to coerce their way past his will, into his mind and memories. Skinner smiled fiendishly and waved dismissal. All the spheres burst like fireworks and sparkled out, the sparks falling into a trail that seemed to get sucked into Skinner’s forehead.

“Keep a knockin’,” Skinner crowed madly, bouncing up from his seat.

They all stared at him, uncomprehending.

“Interesting talent,” Zhen-Zoon bowed his head slightly, recovering himself. “I did not know such Arcanum was possible.”

“I didn’t know you boys could meld your juju,” Skinner grinned, shadow and sparks of mirth dancing in his eyes. “Thanks for the booster. It’s quite tiring to weave carefully enough not to wake the neighbors.”

“We did not sense you,” Zhen-Zoon’s eyes narrowed as though it were a question.

“Funnel it through druidry,” Skinner nodded his head emphatically. “Now. If we’re through with the spitting contest, how about we have a serious discussion about local politics.”

“How can we trust you?” one of the others asked.

“Zhen-Zoon,” Skinner waved him closer. “You may view my memory now.”

The Vurhk leader scanned his face for a moment, then gazed into his eyes and searched Skinner’s mind. Skinner channeled him swiftly to the memory in question, shielding the rest of his mind as the dhari searched. Skinner, in turn, scanned subtly to find what he could learn from the other.

“He hides much,” Zhen-Zoon declared after a few moments. “But he is true. Shadows rise in him, but he is not ruled by them.”

“Good,” Orexmor heaved a frustrated sigh. “Can we get to the matter at hand now?”

“Why, Skinner?” the younger dhari asked. “Why concern yourself with the falling of the houses of the Vurhk?”

“Well, Wae-Zoon,” Skinner replied, “to determine destiny.”

Reviews

[TLK]

"We're surrounded!" is a quite a high-impact, arresting opener. I feel the tension is then ruined with the 'break'.