Chains of Mist (25 page)

Cheradis, however, did not pause. He moved unerringly, his steps tracing a path through the juraa
.
He ducked and weaved his way through the treacherous vines with the grace of a dancer, and the other Kastria warriors did likewise. Drogni and Makree followed as best they could; the lithe, sinewy form of the Black General avoided the worst of the thorns, but Drogni was far less graceful. Each step seemed to bring a fresh prick of pain. But he made no sound of protest, and did not allow his discomfort to slow their progress.
I am Drogni Ortega, goddammit! I have battled SmugCo enforcers and gone face-to-face with the fiercest pirates in the Zhen’ka.
I’ll be damned if I let a couple of thorns bring me down.

They continued through the forest for nearly an hour until they suddenly burst out into the open. In front of them was more grassland, but this time the bo’al
had been cleared until it rose to halfway up Drogni’s thighs. A few hundred meters away sat what could only be the Kastria village. It was surrounded by high walls of a reddish-brown wood, from which protruded long wooden spikes. Drogni could also see numerous embrasures carved into the wall, tiny slitted openings through which Kastria archers or spearmen could rain death upon a charging enemy force without putting themselves at risk of return fire. Tall watchtowers manned by warriors wielding huge wooden bows rose at each corner of the village, and more such structures were dotted across the plain. Finally, the field surrounding the village had been fortified with stakes of sharpened wood that had been jammed into the earth at an angle such that the points faced towards any attacking force. Even the height of the bo’al
had a military purpose; it was just high enough to slow any invaders, but no so high as to provide cover.

Drogni was impressed by the extensiveness of the Kastria fortifications, and said as much to Cheradis. A grin spread across the warrior’s tanned face. “You know much of war, Drogni Ortega of the
Tel’aria
. The Traika have tried for years to destroy us, and we have repelled their every assault. They may rule supreme beneath the shadow of Kil’la’ril, but these are the lands of the Kastria. It will be a dark day in Lai’kar before those
dai’chak’malata
set foot in our village!”

Cheradis set out across the clearing, and the Tellarians followed him to the single village entrance. The tall warrior greeted the sentries standing outside, who returned the greeting with seeming cordiality but whose eyes were fixed suspiciously on the Tellarians. Once they were inside, Cheradis led them quickly through the village. They did not pass very many villagers; those they did pass regarded the Tellarians with the same wary gaze as the sentries. Young children played outside of small, round-roofed wooden buildings under the watchful eyes of parents or elders. Cheradis stopped outside of a long rectangular structure with a high, low-sloping roof. The soft hum of voices trickled through the thick mat of woven bo’al hanging over the entrance. “Wait here,” the Kastria warrior said. “I will inform the
kat’ara
of your arrival.”

Drogni and Makree had little choice but to obey. Cheradis slipped inside the hut, and the murmurs stopped. Cheradis said something that was too soft and muffled for them to make out; the reply was similarly unintelligible. Drogni took the opportunity to mentally review his plan once they were inside. He knew from the briefings that the
kat’ara
was some sort of ruling council of elders. Many tribes also had a single executive ruler akin to a king or queen, although the balance of power between the
kat’ara
and the monarch varied greatly from tribe to tribe. Drogni had no idea what to expect with the Kastria.
Just have to play this one by ear. Try to get through this without offending anyone.

After a few more minutes of muted conversation, Cheradis reappeared. “The
kat’ara
will see you now,” he said. He beckoned them inside, holding aside the bo’al
mat for them to enter, but did not follow them in. The building’s interior consisted of a single, large unfurnished room. Near the far wall, seven men and women of advanced age sat in a semicircle around a rectangle of flat rectangle. Within that circle were more stones, arranged in a pattern that meant nothing to Drogni but obviously had some sort of tribal significance.

Beside the seven elders stood another man, a fearsome-looking individual who towered a full head taller than the Tellarians. His face and bare torso were crisscrossed with scars, and a shock of black hair covered his head like the plume of some great bird. He was clearly in the prime of his strength, and exuded an aura of power and vigor.

The Tellarians waited in silence. Drogni did not know the proper protocol for this situation, but in his experience it was almost always better to wait for the hosts to speak first. All parties regarded each other in silence for several moments, taking each other’s measure. Then the standing man stepped forward. He placed his closed fist on his scar-covered chest in the same gesture that Cheradis had shown. “I am Arex,
Dar’katal
of the Kastria,” he said in a deep voice. “Welcome to our village.”

Drogni recognized the word that Arex had used to describe himself; it meant something like ‘warleader’. This, then, would be the monarch-equivalent within the Kastria tribe. “Greetings, Arex,” he replied. “My name—”

“Hold, stranger,” interrupted the hawk-nosed man sitting third from the left. The lower half of his left ear was missing, and his eyes were like chips of flint in his craggy face. “Your masks,” he continued, his voice clipped as if he were struggling to hold back a great rage. “You will remove them.”

Drogni froze. “It is a tradition among our people—”

“These are our lands, and our customs,” interrupted the hawk-nosed man. “When the Demon Prince sought to trick the Do’ala into surrendering their eternal
di’uana
to him, he shrouded his face with a mask to hide his lies. It does not recommend you to us to garb yourselves as did A’Cheran.” The man leaned forward, and his eyes clouded with a fury that was mirrored in his voice. “I say again—remove the masks, or leave our lands at once.”

Drogni glanced around at the others, but they all appeared to be in agreement with the hawk-nosed man. Arex did not appear to be particularly thrilled with the situation, but he had his arms folded gravely and a look of warning in his pale eyes. What choice did they have but to obey? “Very well,” Drogni said. “We will respect your wishes, and your customs.”

Drogni reached up and pulled off his mask. In the corner of his eye he saw Makree do the same. His mind raced, trying to figure out their next move. Without the masks to shroud their faces, the Kastria would immediately notice that their words didn’t match their lip movement. Drogni had no idea how they would react to that. They would probably assume that the Tellarians were sorcerers of some kind; depending on how the Kastria viewed magic, that could be very good or very bad. He readied himself to grab his par-gun in case the situation turned to violence, and simultaneously prayed to every deity in every religion he could think of that it wouldn’t come to that.

“Apologies, strangers,” said Arex softly. “We of the Kastria hold strictly to our customs, especially in such difficult times. After all, what point would there be in defeating our enemies if the price was offending the gods, and incurring their immortal and everlasting wrath?”

There was something in Arex’s voice—a note of bitterness, even
anger
—that told Drogni that the Kastria
Dar’katal
did not approve of the
kat’ara
’s strict adherence to religious custom. He did not reply. Makree, however, stepped forwards towards Arex. “We understand,
Dar’katal
of the Kastria,” he said, his voice clear and respectful. “We honor your piety; it is not our intention to offend.”

Drogni’s breath caught in his throat. What was Makree thinking? Surely he knew better than to make such a careless mistake. But Arex did not seem alarmed or surprised; in fact, he did not seem to have noticed that anything was amiss. Nor had any others of the
kat’ara
. But that was impossible. They
must
have seen. Drogni glanced over at Makree, but the other soldier did not meet his eyes. Instead, he addressed the
kat’ara
. “We thank you for granting us an audience on such short notice.”

And, with that, Drogni knew why the
kat’ara
had not reacted. He had to fight to keep the shock from his face.
What in the…

For Makree was speaking the language of the Kastria. It was Drogni who was hearing a translation—not the Kastria. Drogni fought to keep his face expressionless against a rising tide of surprise…and anger.
A useful trick, true, and it’ll save us a lot of explaining…but this isn’t how I should be finding out about it. This
really
isn’t how I should be finding out.
He was trying not to worry as much about insubordination or deference of rank, but he was still in charge here. It was one thing for the Vizier to keep secrets; it was another for one of Drogni’s soldiers to have them.
Next chance I get, we’re gonna sit down and have a serious talk…the talk we
should’ve
had before that damned Vizier distracted me.

Hide something like that again, soldier, and you won’t like what happens next.

But he said nothing, and gave no sign that anything was amiss. Nor did he attempt to wrest the spokesperson role away from Makree. For good or ill, Makree was now in charge of this negotiation.
But he’d better not say anything beyond ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, or make any promises he can’t keep.

“But of course, stranger,” said Arex. “I understand that we have you to thank for the lives of nine of our warriors. The Kastria are grateful for your intervention, and for the wound you have inflicted upon the
a’dia
Traika.”

“We should have wiped the Traika out long ago!” The speaker was a white-haired man with a pair of fingers missing from each hand. “They are a disease on this land!”

“Yes, yes, Cunar,” said the
Dar’katal
, his tone that of a parent placating an overly enthusiastic child. “Let us allow our guests to speak.” He turned back towards Makree. “Cheradis tells us that you are tracking a fugitive, a criminal of your people, who has sought refuge on Kil’la’ril. He tells us that you would like our help in passing safely through the lands of the Traika. Is this correct?”

Makree nodded. “It is.”

“It is already clear that you have no love for the Traika,” continued the
Dar’katal
, “And the Kastria are already in your debt for aiding our warriors. Your presence, with your strange, magic weapons, presents us with a chance to finally strike a mortal blow against the Traika. I believe this is an opportunity sent by the gods, and I welcome it with open arms. My
tar’ketala
have been seething for Traika blood, and here we have a chance to spill it. In return for your aid on the battlefield, once the Traika are defeated I would be honored to escort you personally to Kil’la’ril. This I swear by the Sun Goddess, Kat’aia, and by the Sky Lord Ja’nal.”

“Thank you—”

An old woman with graying hair and advanced cataracts in both eyes cut off Makree before he could say more. “Hold, Arex,” she said, raising a frail finger in warning. “You must not be so hasty in promising aid. It is offensive to the gods—remember the tale of Attenas and the Serpent.”

“Celora is correct,” said the hawk-nosed man. “Besides, you forget that even with these warriors of
Tel’aria
, there are three Traika warriors for every one of ours, and their
to’laka
—” Drogni recognized the native word meaning ‘magic-users’ or ‘shamans’ “—wield powerful magic within their lands. They have the aura of Kil’la’ril to strengthen them—we cannot defeat them. You seem to think that these two strangers will change the tide of the war, but you are wrong. Their presence changes nothing.”

“You give my warriors too little credit,” shot back Arex, anger in his voice. “The Traika are
a’dia
—I have fought them, while you sat here and debated, and I tell you that we can beat them.” He raised his clenched fist towards the Tellarians. “That is my promise to you, strangers. Help us defeat the
a’dia
Traika, and I will lead you to Kil’la’ril myself. What say you?”

As the
Dar’katal
spoke, Drogni could not help but think that he was being dangerously optimistic.
I saw the Kastria fight, and the Traika cut them to ribbons. Now, maybe that was the Traika elite against Kastria scrubs, but I’ve got to assume it wasn’t. Multiply that by thirty or forty—based on the size of this village—to simulate a full-scale battle, and what you’ve got is a whole bunch of dead Kastria, no matter what Makree and I do. Brute force isn’t gonna work here—but there are alternatives.

The blind woman, Celora, spoke before either of the Tellarians had a chance to reply. “You forget your place, Arex. We are not the Belayas or the Sandahar, where the
Dar’katal
is the unanimous leader in times of war; you are but one voice of the
kat’ara
. You cannot accept these foreigners without our consent. Custom must be followed; trust must be
earned
—”