Chains of Mist (39 page)

The insidious voice fled before the Mari’eth magic, retreating wholly from Drogni’s mind. This time, he was in control of his own actions, rather than succumbing to them.

The other shamans recovered quickly from Drogni’s initial attack. Moving like shadows, they vanished and reappeared several meters away. They began to chant, their voices blending in a bone-chilling harmony, and a wall of flame leapt from their outstretched hands. The inferno seared towards Drogni, who instinctively ducked and slashed his blade at it; wherever
Ss’aijas K’sejjas
touched, the fire died, and Drogni emerged unscathed. Undeterred, the shamans continued their eerie incantation, and the air around them suddenly whipped into a frenzy, forming a dozen miniature cyclones which swirled towards Drogni, throwing up clouds of dust and parched earth in their wake. Once again, Drogni stood firm, and the twisters bent away before his Mari’eth sword.

The shamans’ chanting intensified, and clouds of shadow swirled behind them. Lightning crackled from within the darkness, tongues of electricity stabbing out at Drogni, and then slowly a shape began to form from the roiling shadows. The creature stood on two legs, with a giant, bestial head topped by horns of black fire. Its mouth was a gaping, bottomless maw, its eyes glinting, blood-red spheres. More shadows swirled beneath it, coalescing into a pair of cruel four-taloned hands. Fully formed, the shadow beast writhed in midair, chaotic lightning sparking from its maw, claws scything towards Drogni, as if it desperately wanted to attack but was held back by some unseen force.

Through
Ss’aijas K’sejjas
, Drogni could
feel
the stench of evil rolling off the creature.

The chanting grew into a crescendo, until it seemed as if the very air quivered. Grew, grew—

Stopped. Abruptly, completely, into a deafening silence. As if that was the cue to attack, the beast lunged forward, spitting lightning and black fire, claws reaching to snuff the life from this puny Human who was foolish enough to stand against it.

Drogni did not wait for the beast to come. He leapt forward to meet it.

Flames licked out at him, talons of shadow slashed for his throat. He ignored them. They were nothing—weapons that lacked the power to hurt him. In this confrontation, only one weapon was of any consequence.

Mine.

Ss’aijas K’sejjas
swept down, a pillar of blinding brightness, cleaving the beast in two. The monster’s dying shriek pierced the air, then shadow turned to ash, which turned to dust, which faded into the night.

Drogni did not pause to revel in his victory. His leap into the maw of the beast had carried him forward, towards the shamans, and he hit the ground still running. He closed the distance almost immediately and was upon them.

This time, they did not retreat before his swinging blade. They looked stunned. The demonic chanting faded, and in that moment, despite the frenzied cries of the battle still raging around them, all seemed deathly quiet.

One of the shamans looked up, his eyes finding Drogni’s. His pupils were dilated and blood-red, the eyes of a man possessed, but as Drogni watched they shrank back to normal, their color changing to blue. He risked a glance at the others and saw similar transformations in each of them. A few were staring up at the sky, looking for all the world like they were just seeing it for the first time.

The first shaman took a trembling step forward. Drogni raised his blade, prepared for an attack, but the man seemed barely aware of where they were. When he spoke, his voice was a thin quaver in the night. “
What have we done?
”

Drogni did not reply. All around him, the other shamans were looking at him, and there was horror in their eyes, as if they had just awakened from a nightmare only to learn that it was real. “
Oh, Ja’nal
,” whispered the first shaman, sinking to his knees. He seemed to have aged fifty years in a matter of moments. “
What have we done?
”

His voice ached with despair, and Drogni’s blade wavered in his arms. His battle determination dissolved. For the first time, he saw the Traika shamans as
people
, rather than
monsters
. The evil of Nembane Mountain—the evil of Rokan Sellas—was gone from them. They were just a group of men and women, frail and tired and weak, horrified at the acts they had committed.

Drogni knew that he could not kill them.
Are they so different from me, when I felt Rokan Sellas’s power? I let him in, believing that the strength I felt was my own, believing that to use it was the only way to victory. Surely it was no different for them. Why should I get a second chance and not them?

It stops here.

Drogni turned to survey the battle. Dozens of fresh corpses littered the village, but perhaps two hundred warriors still fought on. In the confusion it was difficult to tell who—if anyone—was winning this battle, but he suspected that the Kastria were inflicting the heavier casualties. He could see both Makree and Arex fighting on; the Kastria
Dar’katal
was like a mountain, huge and implacable with his stone blade sweeping through his foes, while Makree could kill one or more enemies per second and likely had. With the Kastria reinforcing him and the enemy shamans neutralized, the outcome of the battle was not in doubt. If allowed to continue, it could only end one way—with total annihilation.

So Drogni made a small adjustment to the translator chip in his throat, raised
Ss’aijas K’sejjas
high above his head, and bellowed, “STOP!”

* * * *

The battle froze. All heads swiveled to face Drogni. With the volume on his translator set to maximum, his voice rumbled across the village like thunder. To ensure that he had everyone’s full attention, he drew his pistol and fired a pair of shots straight up into the sky, and once again roared, “STOP!”

The scene before him was like a painting, a single moment frozen in time. Swords halted mid-strike and archers stood with arrows nocked on taut bowstrings. The only sounds were the cries of the dying, and these were few; even mortally wounded warriors twisted to see the source of this booming command. Hundreds of eyes stared at Drogni in wonder and fear. Now that the chaos had ceased, Drogni could tell who was on what side. What he saw confirmed his earlier suspicions. Of those warriors still standing, nearly two-thirds were Kastria.
So many dead
, Drogni thought.
So many. And for what? Is any man, even Rokan Sellas, worth this?

The first to move was Arex. The Kastria
Dar’katal
ran over to Drogni, blood running down his side, his eyes flush with rage. “What is the meaning of this, warrior of
Tel’aria
?” he whispered furiously. “We have them—
we have them!
The battle is ours—we must
finish it
!”

Drogni adjusted the volume on his translator back to normal. He met Arex’s angry gaze without flinching. “The battle is over,” he said.

“It is
not
over!” Arex turned, gesticulating wildly with his flint-bladed sword at the Traika who still lived. “
It is
not over
, warrior of
Tel’aria
! We can end this, here, tonight! We
will
end this—”

“It is over,” repeated Drogni. “You have won. And hundreds have died, from three tribes. How many more need to join them? Let it end here.”

Arex stared at Drogni, anger turning into disbelief. “Let it end? For seventeen years, we have fought the Traika, always outnumbered, always defeated, and now that we finally have a chance to turn the tide of this war you ask me not to take it? Does your mind turn on itself, warrior of
Tel’aria
?
You
agreed that we had to kill them all. This was
your
plan as much as it was mine—”

“Yes, it was,” admitted Drogni. “And I was wrong. We came here for slaughter, and we got it. And I’ve had enough of it. Enough people have died tonight.”

“If I let them go, they will just rejoin the rest of the Traika and attack us tomorrow, or the next day! We must kill them all; there must be no survivors—”

“And if you kill them all, the rest of the Traika will still attack you tomorrow, and they will still outnumber you.” Drogni met Arex’s angry glare without blinking. “You don’t need more violence; what you need is for the war to end. If you spare these men, that’s a start towards peace. Maybe not enough—but it’s more than you’ve had in years, from what you’ve told me. It’s not easy to take that first step, and I’m not pretending it is. But it’s your best chance. It’s your only chance.”

Arex considered this for a second, then he shook his head angrily. “No! We won tonight, you said it yourself. We can win next time, too. Their
to’laka
are dead, and if they think to bring the battle into our lands we will crush them. I have waited years for this moment, warrior of
Tel’aria
—you will not take it from me!”

As Arex spoke, Drogni suddenly heard a buzz of static from inside his head. It sounded like the Vizier was again trying to contact him, but for whatever reason could not.
Good—the last thing I need right now is him in my head, disrupting my thoughts.
“Yes, you won tonight. But you won’t win next time. Because Makree and I won’t be there to help you.”

The
Dar’katal
’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a threat, warrior of
Tel’aria
?”

“No,” replied Drogni evenly. “We’ll be leaving tonight, regardless of what you decide. I’m just warning you not to make your decision because of what has happened tonight. Make it based on the seventeen years that happened before it.”

Arex’s eyes flashed angrily, and the muscles of his sword-arm bunched. But he quickly regained control. “So what now, warrior of
Tel’aria
? Shall we just leave and hope for the Traika to repay our kindness? The evil of Kil’la’ril has torched their souls; they will not listen to any emissaries of peace.”

Drogni knew that therein lay the flaw in his plan. The original cause of this war had long since been forgotten, and the reason it had continued for so long was that neither side was willing to make the first move towards peace. Drogni felt certain that—in their normal state—the Traika would now accept peace, especially since half of their warriors had been wiped out. But the power of Nembane Mountain had changed that. Drogni had seen it with his own eyes, felt it in his soul. In their current state, the Traika were not rational. “True. I won’t argue with that. You’re taking a risk by doing this…but it’s a risk either way. What I
can
say is that I came here to find and kill the man responsible for this evil. When—
when,
not if—I kill him, the spell should break.”

“Should?” Arex’s voice was low and dangerous. His expression was dark and menacing, like the sky during a storm.

“Yes,
should
.” Drogni did not blink in the face of the
Dar’katal
’s anger. “I’m not an expert on this, and I won’t pretend I am—and I don’t want to be! Maybe I’m wrong, and the damage is permanent. In that case, the Traika may destroy you, or you them, and it won’t matter what you choose to do tonight.”

It was a very unsatisfying argument, and Drogni knew it. He knew he was asking a lot of Arex based purely on faith, perhaps too much. For all he knew, there was a custom that prohibited them from sparing enemies in battle, and he was asking the
Dar’katal
to break it. Were he in Arex’s spot, he wasn’t sure what he would do. But Drogni knew, in an unshakable way that he couldn’t explain, that this was the Kastria tribe’s only chance to survive.

Arex was silent for several long moments. When he finally replied, his voice was still tight with anger. “Even if I spare them, it will change nothing between our tribes. They will still be my enemy in the morning.”

“They are still your enemy tonight,” said Drogni. “And that will never change unless you choose to change it.”

Arex considered this. His gaze flicked towards the battlefield, whose inhabitants had segregated themselves with the Traika on one side and the Kastria and Makree on the other. “I do not like this idea, warrior of
Tel’aria
,” he growled. “You have helped us to do what I had believed impossible, and the Kastria are grateful…but you ask much.” He looked at Drogni, then back over at his warriors, and suddenly he sighed and lowered his blade. “I trust you, warrior of
Tel’aria
. You know the art of war better than any I have ever met, and since you have arrived you have brought much luck to our tribe. Perhaps you are blessed by the gods. I do not like it…but I will do it. And I will pray that you are right.”

* * * *

True to his word, Arex quickly gathered up his men and left. Before they went, he spoke with the Traika
Dar’katal
, Lorann. Arex told Lorann that the battle was over, that the Traika were free to regroup with the rest of their tribe wherever they wished, and that he would send emissaries for peace in two days’ time. Drogni, who was present for this exchange, found it difficult to gauge Lorann’s reaction. Although the Traika
Dar’katal
did not appear to be consumed by the dread aura of Nembane Mountain, something dark and dangerous still gleamed in his eyes. Then the Kastria departed, vanishing back into the trees like silent ghosts, and shortly thereafter the Traika had followed suit, leaving Drogni and Makree alone with the dead.