Chains of Mist (24 page)

As he considered that possibility, another thought occurred to him. Maybe
ko’sha
included other forms of energy beyond merely thermal. Energy came in several varieties: electric, magnetic, gravitational, chemical. Even something as simple as a strong right hook was an example of kinetic energy at work. Just because he had only seen Lerana manipulate thermal energy didn’t mean that was all that she was capable of. It was possible that she was not even aware of the distinction between different energy types. Perhaps for her it was all one big wellspring of power swirling all around her.

Roger supposed that he could ask her for another demonstration, to see if she could summon up lightning or wind or maybe some kind of psychokinetic burst. But then he remembered the smell of charred flesh, the wince of pain as she cradled her singed fingers.
If fire burned her, what would a bolt of lightning do?
He couldn’t ask that she go through that merely for the sake of his own curiosity.

Besides, Roger wasn’t really interested in the particulars of his or Lerana’s magic. He had more pressing matters on his mind, like getting free before this
Dar’katal
—whoever or whatever that might be—turned him into mincemeat. When it came down to it, it didn’t really matter if his explanation was accurate, or complete. Nor did it matter if it made sense to him. All that mattered was that it made sense to Lerana.

He waited anxiously as the Traika shaman thought, her gaze flicking between Roger’s face and his ring. She seemed to be considering what he had said—or at least putting on a show of considering it. “I see,” she said finally. “That is certainly valuable information, Roger. I cannot yet say if it will be enough to tip the balance in favor of sparing your life. But I will take it to my fellow
to’laka
, and they to the
kat’ara
.”

Roger felt a swell of relief cascade through him. Maybe there was still some hope for him after all. Maybe there was a way out of this that didn’t end with him buried or burned or whatever the Traika did with their dead.
Or maybe she’s just toying with you,
a cynical part of his mind said
. Maybe she’s playing you for a fool, getting what she came for and then turning you over to the executioner.
He swatted down that thought; if that were the case, then he was dead already, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“But certainly. As I said, we are not animals. We do not wish to see you dead if there is an alternative. All life is to be revered, rather than tossed aside at the slightest provocation.” Lerana rose to her feet. “I will return, Roger, with the verdict of the
kat’ara
. In the meantime I will see to it that you are taken care of.” The shaman gave a short bow and then was gone.

-11-

To call it a fight would be an insult to every sense of the word, implying an equality of forces that was wholly absent. Spears and swords, no matter how skillfully wielded, were a poor matchup against particle beam pistols, especially when such weapons were employed in a surprise attack by two of the deadliest warriors in the entire Tellarian military. In the face of this new assault, the Traika warriors held fast only long enough to realize that they could not win before turning and fleeing, vanishing across the bo’al field like spirits. The Kastria dispatched in short order those wounded who could not escape.

As Drogni watched the fleeing Traika, he felt a bitter taste rise in his throat. To gain the help of a few strangers, he had killed a few more. It was something he had done more than once in the past; as a soldier, he had learned to separate emotion from action. A soldier who hesitated on the battlefield died; a soldier who disobeyed orders suffered worse. Yet as he fought his mind summoned up images of the terrible slaughter he had wreaked on Hilthak under Rokan Sellas’s dark influence. He remembered the visceral, bestial pleasure he had felt, killing merely for the sake of killing, and suppressed a shudder.
Never again!
he swore.
I am a soldier, not a monster. Rokan Sellas is the monster…and I am nothing like him!

The nine remaining Kastria warriors watched the Tellarians in silence, standing in a defensive semi-circle. Their eyes were wary, their weapons held ready, but they seemed unsure of how to react, as if each was fighting an internal war with his own emotions—which, if the Vizier was to be believed, was exactly what was happening.
Now we find out if he can actually do what he claims
, thought Drogni grimly.

The Kastria exchanged glances, then one of them—distinguished from the others by a sleeve of some dark material around his right forearm—lowered his weapon and stepped forward. Drogni noticed that the others kept their spears up and got a measure of wry satisfaction from the fact that the Vizier’s telepathic powers weren’t having the effect that the man had expected. Even the Kastria who had stepped forward had a look of caution in his eyes. “Greetings, strangers,” he said, placing his fist across his chest. He had a long face, with narrow eyes and a high, sloping forehead. His sun-blasted red skin was marred by several patches of pale white scar tissue. Like his companions, he stood about a hand’s-breadth taller than the Tellarians, his height a result of Espir’s slightly lighter gravity. “You have our gratitude for helping us defeat the dai’rang
-
spawn Traika.”

The Tellarians had both donned their translator earpieces a short time before, and so the Kastria warrior’s words came to them as if he had spoken in Federation Standard. The chips in their throats would automatically translate their replies into the native tongue. To prevent the Kastria from noticing that the Tellarians’ lip movements did not match their words, both Drogni and Makree wore their breathing masks across their faces, hiding their mouths from view. “We are glad to help,” replied Drogni, taking care to speak as slowly and as clearly as possible so that the translator could pick up his words through the muffling of the breathing masks. “Any enemy of the Traika is a friend of ours.”

The Kastria warrior did not seem to share that sentiment. Caution still dominated his expression, and his voice was wary. “Why do you hide your faces?” he asked. “What secrets do you seek to conceal from me and my warriors?”

Drogni kept his calm. He had expected this, and so was prepared with an answer. “It is customary among my people to cover our faces when we fight,” he said. “Thus we keep the stench of death from poisoning our souls.”

“An interesting custom, stranger,” replied the Kastria warrior. “Among my people, we consider the aroma of battle to be invigorating. And as our enemies gasp out their final breaths, the strength flows from their bodies into ours. A mask such as yours would prevent that; the
di’ua
of a fallen foe would be lost, scattered to the winds.”

The Kastria warrior’s words had a note of challenge to them, and he studied Drogni intently, waiting for a reply. Drogni wasn’t exactly sure what to say; as best as he could remember, a
di’ua
was something like ‘soul’ or ‘life essence’. He decided to go with something simple, and try to keep this from turning into a philosophical discussion. “But if the
di’ua
is evil, then would it not be very foolish to take it upon oneself? Let us agree that both customs have their merits and their pitfalls, and to respect those differences, lest more blood be spilled here today.”

“Very well,” said the Kastria warrior. Drogni could not tell whether the Espirian was pleased or angry that Drogni had brought their discussion to an abrupt end…or at the thinly veiled threat in the final statement. “My name is Cheradis. Tell me, who are you and from what tribe does your blood run?”

“Greetings, Cheradis of the Kastria. My name is Drogni Ortega, and this is Aras Makree, of the Tellaria tribe.”

“
Tel’aria
?” Cheradis’s eyes narrowed, and his hand tightened around the haft of his spear. “I am not familiar with that tribe. Where do you come from, stranger?”

Drogni paused, and Makree stepped smoothly forward. “It is not surprising that you have not heard of us,” he said. “We come from across the Great Sea, A’chen’has.”

Cheradis considered that for several long moments, but apparently that answer satisfied him; his grip on his spear loosened, and the suspicion fell away from his eyes. Drogni breathed an inward sigh of relief, while simultaneously berating himself for forgetting such a basic detail of Espirian geography. “You have come a long way, strangers,” said Cheradis. “What brings you to this part of the world? Not simply to slay a few Traika
a’dia
, I think.”

“You see much, Cheradis of the Kastria,” continued Makree. “And indeed you are correct. Although we have no love for the Traika, and would gladly see them defeated, that is not our purpose in your lands. We would have an audience with your leaders, to discuss a matter of grave importance.”

“Is that so?” Cheradis glanced over at Drogni, his eyes cool and calculating, then looked back at Makree. “The
kat’ara
do not freely entertain visitors, especially not in this time of war. We have many enemies, and traitors lurk like the koffana
in the bo’al
fields. Perhaps you could relate this matter to me, and I will decide whether it is something that we can bring before the
kat’ara
.”

“Certainly,” replied Makree. “There is a man named Rokan Sellas, an outlaw who has killed many of our own and plans to kill still more. He has fled from our lands and has taken refuge in the mountain you call Kil’la’ril. My companion and I have tracked him across the sea, and we seek your help to pass through the lands of the Traika, in order that we might bring this fugitive to justice.”

Cheradis made a strange clicking sound with his teeth. “I see, Aras Makree. Although based on your most recent display, it would seem that you ought to be able to fight your way through the Traika on your own, no?” His eyes flicked hungrily towards the par-gun in Makree’s hand. “What more can the Kastria do for you when you already have weapons that can conjure fire from air and shoot five times in the space of a single heartbeat?” Again, he glanced greedily at Makree’s weapon.

It was impossible that Makree had not noticed the Kastria warrior’s avaricious looks, but he did not react. “I believe you overestimate the power of our weapons,” he replied. “We were able to overcome a few Traika warriors because they were not expecting us and were unprepared for our weaponry. We no longer have that advantage. We have also heard that the Traika possess powerful magic, for which we have no counter. We are but two men; we cannot defeat an army on our own.”

“True, very true.” Cheradis studied Makree’s face, but Drogni knew that he would learn nothing from it. “Well, warriors of
Tel’aria
, your plight has moved me.” At this, Drogni forced back a laugh; the lie in Cheradis’s words was blatantly obvious. “I would like nothing more than to see you bring this evil man to justice,” continued the Kastria warrior. “Unfortunately, I do not speak for the Kastria people. However, if you come with me, I will ensure that you are granted an audience with the
kat’ara
to present your case.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “But choose your words wisely in their presence, Aras Makree. They will not care about Ro’kan Sellas and will only hear the chance to defeat the Traika. They will want to use you, wield you like a weapon—be careful what you agree to.”

“Thank you for your advice,” said Makree gravely. “We will be wary.”

“Good.” Cheradis smiled, making a gesture for his warriors to lower their weapons. “You are wise, Aras Makree. I have no doubt that the
Tel’aria
are an honorable people, who have no reason to harm us,” continued Cheradis, the wide, fake smile back on his face. “And I would be happy to take you to our village. Please, follow me.”

* * * *

Cheradis led them through the bo’al, moving so swiftly that the Tellarians had to practically run to keep up. One of the other warriors dashed ahead, quickly outdistancing the others; Cheradis explained to the Tellarians that the warrior would inform the
kat’ara
of their request, so that they would be prepared for the Tellarians’ arrival. They picked their way through the thick, wavy grass for several minutes, then came to a shallow, slow-moving river whose bed was covered in grey, irregularly-shaped rocks and some sort of wide, flat aquatic fungus. Small, dark-bodied fish darted through the water, swimming in huge winding schools that dispersed as the Tellarians and Kastria waded across the stream and then reformed once they had passed.

On the other side of the river rose a huge forest, with towering trees that grew so closely together that their high canopies seemed to form a single, seamless blanket through which only faint shafts of light could penetrate. Drogni could see thick, thorny vines wrapped around the tree trunks, stretching from tree to tree like the web of some massive arachnid. He knew that the vines—which were actually a weed called the juraa—could grow to the point where a single organism spanned several kilometers. Cut down one segment, and the severed ends would continue to grow. It was nearly impossible to eradicate, and he braced himself for a nightmarish trek through the dark, arboreal labyrinth.