Dawn of the Ice Bear (14 page)

Just before the blackness of death overtook him, Kanilla Rey thought he heard Shehkmi al Nasir's anguished scream, born of frustration that revenge had been denied him.

Listening to it, Kanilla Rey died with a smile on his face.

KRAL PUT HIS powerful shoulders into the rowing, and before the eastern sky had lightened to gray they were heading up the mouth of the Black River. At sea, the current had been with them, steadily helping to push them toward the coast. But as soon as they reached the river's channel, it became a struggle. The Black's strong flow fought him every inch of the way, and even with Tarawa joining in, sweat ran from him in small rivers of its own.

When the sun started to rise, Kral could still see the spires of Kordava over his right shoulder, and he remembered how much Mikelo had wanted to get back to his home city. Instead, the boy's body remained in Stygia, and his spirit had gone to the Mountains of the Dead.

He supposed the fact that he could see the city meant that people in its towers could see the boat. It was a very small craft in a very big river, however, and there were numerous larger ones around, so he wasn't overly concerned about that. Still, he forced himself to row ever harder, just in case. The threat didn't just come from the city, but also from the other boats on the river. Anyone who looked over and saw a Pict rowing into Zingara's interior might cause trouble.

Ahead, the river narrowed. Tall trees lined both banks, interrupted only where the massive gray stones that formed much of the river's bed broke through the surface and jutted up onto the shore. Deeper into Pictish country, Kral knew, the river had carved through granite mountains, and its color against that gray stone earned it the name Black. Here the granite was less prevalent, but there was some.

The water flowed even faster as the banks came together. Kral had been sticking close to the western bank, because it was farther from Kordava. As they made their way upriver, however, he realized they would ultimately have to work their way closer to the center, as occasional villages were perched on both banks. He kept his head down, rowing hard, praying that none of the people they passed paid much mind to the tiny rowboat.

Finally, Kordava disappeared behind a bend in the river, and they pulled the boat to shore in an empty, wooded stretch. Here, Kral, Alanya, Donial, and Tarawa climbed from the dinghy and off-loaded their supplies, leaving only Mialat, one of the
Restless Heart
's sailors, to row back alone. “The current will aid you,” Kral assured the man.

“I know,” Mialat replied. Kral knew that, during the night, the
Restless Heart
had drifted closer to shore, so when Mialat reached the sea he would not have as far to row as they had in the darkness. The sailor still had a difficult chore ahead of him, nonetheless.

As did those he left behind. Kral knew how to build a canoe, but it was a lot of work. It would pay off, he knew, once they were traveling upriver through some of the Black's treacherous narrows. There would be rapids as well, which would have to be portaged, and the canoe would be much easier to haul through wild country than the dinghy would have been. He'd watched for one to steal but hadn't seen any likely prospects.

He set the others to making camp while he picked some good trees to skin for their bark. He liked working with pine bark, and there was plenty of it here. He chose strong but supple branches for the thwarts and ribs, and cut down a stouter tree from which to fashion a keel and paddles. A dugout might have been faster to make, but heavier and less maneuverable, so he decided to stick with what he knew best.

While he shaved the bark and prepared it, he instructed the others on how to pick sturdy reeds to tie the branches and shape the downed tree into the parts he needed. That night, exhausted, they bedded down just out of sight of the river. The smells of water and fish and forest filled his nostrils as he drifted off. Donial and Tarawa, he noticed, had spent most of the day working in close proximity, and that night they slept with their heads almost touching. In the morning, Kral snagged a pair of rabbits for breakfast and went back to work.

By the third day, they had a serviceable pine-bark canoe. In other circumstances, Kral would have painted decorations on it, but there was no time for that. He had the crown, but until it was complete, he feared, the threat to his people remained. He was convinced that the missing teeth were in Cimmeria—and even if not, the only man who could tell them where he had sold them was.

“Let's put her in the water and move on,” he suggested once everyone had seen the finished boat.

“It's late,” Tarawa replied. “The sun will be gone before we know it. Should we not wait until morning?”

“Perhaps we should,” Kral said. He knew Tarawa was being practical, not lazy—she had worked as hard as anyone during their trip. “But every day—every hour—might count. If we can get three hours of paddling in before we have to stop for the night, then we should do so.”

“I would hate to be on the water when the sun goes down,” Donial said. “Without lights, who knows what we might encounter.”

“We can put to shore at dusk,” Kral said. “That will still give us time to make camp before full dark. Then we can be on our way again with the sun.”

The others agreed, and they loaded their things into the canoe, heaviest items in the center and working out from there. Kral knew that a flat-bottomed canoe would have been more stable than the one he had made. But it would not have been as maneuverable, so he counted on his own expertise to keep them upright and afloat. The last thing they needed was to capsize and lose the Teeth of the Ice Bear at the bottom of the Black. Kral was the last one in the canoe—he would be the stern paddler, the one most responsible for determining direction. The others would take turns in the bow. He pushed off the bank, then climbed in, hanging on to both gunwales for stability.

When he had settled down, he let out a sigh. “Here we go,” he said. “Pray to whatever gods listen to you that this will be the last leg of our long trek.”

Donial, sitting in the bow, raised his paddle from the water. “I'm for that!” he said. “Let's get this done and get back home!”

Easy for him,
Kral thought. He had lost his father, but he still had Alanya, and a home.

Kral and Tarawa had none of those things. When this was over, Kral would deliver the Teeth back to the Guardian's cave, where Mang, as clan elder, would take over as the new Guardian. But what then, for him? Stay with Klea at the old village site to protect the cave? Klea was too old to bear children, so if they were to rebuild the Bear Clan, he would need to find another woman. Alanya came to mind. She would never do it, though, never give up Aquilonia and her inherited wealth to live in the forest like a Pict. Tarawa? Not if Donial had anything to say about it. Someone from another clan, then.

Or no one at all. Perhaps the Bear Clan was meant to be finished, and some other clan would take over protecting the Teeth.

His mind swam with the possibilities. Nothing he could do about any of it now, though. No firm decisions he could make. He knew only that if he did not find the missing teeth in time, none of it would matter.

Clearing his mind of the rest, he put his entire being to paddling once more. What waited at the end of it all, none could tell. But he meant to finish it, and to do it soon.

 

 

USAM LED THE Pictish army that went north to attack the settlement the Aquilonians called Tanasul. His scouts told him that Bossonians and Taurans had been heading west to reinforce the settlers, and rumor had it that the Aquilonian army was marching that way. All of these things underscored the importance of speed. Not knowing where the Teeth was, and wanting to drive out the settlers in any event, he was glad that Koronaka had fallen quickly and prayed that the rest of the settlements would be the same.

The group that went south had a Loon Clan chieftain named Jano at its head. Both parties split their forces, some taking the Black River north or south, others traveling on foot. Two days after completing the fruitless search for the Teeth at the Koronaka site, Usam stood among the trees, looking at the walls of Tanasul. The walls looked sturdy, but so had those at Koronaka. Armored soldiers patrolled the ramparts, without torches, but visible anyway in the pale moonlight. More than there had been at Koronaka, but he had expected that. The assault on Koronaka had taken the settlers by surprise, even though they were the ones who had initially broken the delicate peace that existed in the region. Once that battle had been joined, others would be anticipated.

Still, he expected the settlers to underestimate just how many Pictish warriors there were, as well as the fire that burned in their guts for victory. This was not just a military campaign; it was a battle for the very survival of his people.

The ground under Usam's feet was frozen and crunchy. He did not object to the cold—Picts lived largely outside in every kind of weather. But he was surprised by it for that same reason. He knew what to expect of the weather, month in and month out. He knew it was subject to variation from year to year, but for the most part, it followed certain long-standing patterns. And always,
always,
winter had been preceded by an autumn of some duration or other.

Not this year, it seemed. Early autumn had been warm. Then, with what seemed no transitional time at all, it had turned cold. He did not know what it meant, but he didn't like it.

The cracking of a downed branch, behind him. Usam spun, raising his newly acquired spear. But it was only Galok, a warrior of the Eagle Clan. He was a broad-shouldered man with short, bandy legs and a deep chest. Eagle feathers dangled from his long, dark hair, bumping into the wolfskin cloak draped over his shoulders. He smiled at Usam, showing uneven yellow teeth. “Usam,” he said as he approached. “Are they ready for us?”

“They think they are,” Usam said. “But they are mistaken.”

Galok laughed dryly. “We should have done this years ago. We should never have let them build those settlements in the first place.”

“Agreed,” Usam said. “But we were not making those decisions, you and I. Our forefathers believed them when they said they wanted to live in peace. Ask the Bear Clan if they meant it.”

Galok chuckled again. “Which one? Mang, or Klea?”

Usam smiled briefly, but the loss of an entire clan was nothing to laugh about. Pointing toward the wall, he said, “Many guards on duty, see? They know, because of what happened at Koronaka, that we will attack during the night. They think if they patrol without torches, we will not see them.”

“Because the senses of civilized men are dulled by the way they live,” Galok surmised. “So they do not understand how much better ours are.”

“Possibly. In this case, they will be disappointed.”

“In what way?” Galok asked.

“They will wait all night for us to attack,” Usam said. “Tiring themselves—their best warriors, who are undoubtedly the ones on the walls tonight. By morning they will decide that we will not come until the sun sets again. Their best warriors will go into their buildings, to their soft beds, possibly after gorging themselves on their rich meals. The weaker ones will take up positions on the walls, knowing they are not in danger from us until dark.”

“So we will attack at sunrise?” Galok speculated.

“No,” Usam said with a grin. “We will wait. Let the soldiers who have been on the wall all night get their meals and fall fast asleep. Let their replacements decide that they are in for a long day on the walls, waiting for an attack that never comes. There is no particular reason we have to attack with the rising sun, or the setting one. In the past we have done so, because it functions as a signal that warriors on all sides can see. But now, there are so many of us, we can pass the word, one to the next.”

Galok laughed once more. “So we attack at midmorning, when they least expect us.”

“That's correct,” Usam said. “Spread the word, now. We only want it to be a surprise to their forces, not to ours.”

Nodding, Galok started to walk away. “I am glad you were made the war leader of our people,” he said. “I hope Jano is as clever, at Thandara. The sooner our lands are rid of these interlopers, the better.”

SHEHKMI AL NASIR let the fire burn brightly. It was contained within a circle drawn on the stone floor of his inner sanctum—drawn in the blood of a young goat kept specifically for that purpose. Once the fire reached waist height, al Nasir dropped certain powdered herbs into it, making the flames change colors and spit toward the ceiling. Another powder turned them green and gave off a foul, sulphuric odor.

When he felt the time was right, he doused the whole thing with a handy pail of water. The fire sizzled; thick gray smoke billowed toward the ceiling.

Perfect.

He spoke a few words and tossed two handfuls of yet another powder, this one made from the dried venom of a particular species of cobra, into the smoke. A patch of it, where the powder had struck, turned smooth, almost glassy. The gray color dissipated. It had become a kind of window. But instead of a window showing what was on the other side of the room, it showed a scene from what must have been hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away.

No longer in Stygia, at any rate.

He saw a dark river, its water almost black in color, which he assumed to be from the gray stone channel it ran in. On that river, he saw a plain brown canoe with four people in it. Only one of those did he recognize. The lovely Tarawa, who had vanished some days back, and who he assumed had been involved in the theft of his Pictish treasure because of the timing of her disappearance.