Part 14 (1/2)
He paused, his scrutiny darting between Soren and Caleb. ”We come seeking the Bringer of Strength.”
Soren remained wooden. Caleb tried to copy him, but Losien grinned. ”We've done well. Which one of you is it?”
Neither answered, and Caleb's stomach went cold. Losien spoke again. ”Your boy is seconds away from paying the price for your ignorance.”
”No!” Caleb bellowed.
Losien faced him calmly. ”Then tell us.”
Caleb had no choice but to play the game, and swallow his pride. ”I am. I found the Medallion.” Soren growled his frustration.
The Hodyn murmured among themselves, and Losien's eyes widened as they glanced from father to son. ”Oh ho!” he cried. ”The famous Falling Man, and his boy-of course, of course!”
”How did you learn about Udan so fast?” Caleb managed to ask.
Losien chuckled. ”No doubt your Adan friends told you that the Hodyn are filthy, ignorant folk. Truth is, we know much of what happens in Udan, even Ekendore at times.” His stare narrowed critically. ”Your sword and clothing are Adan, but you don't look like one of them. Your name-I forget your name, Falling Man.”
”You brag about how much you know, yet you don't even know my name.” It was the weakest of insults and didn't affect Losien in the slightest. ”I'm Caleb Stenger, a Raen of Ada!” He mustered enough enthusiasm to at least sound genuine.
”Was. I would say you've broken the Oath by your admission.” Losien glanced at the Master Raen. ”Looks like Soren thinks so, too. Seems you have no friends left, Falling Man.”
”Just say what you want, and have done!”
”You-what else? You are the Bringer of Strength for the Hodyn. Bringer of Evil to the Adaiani. What better prize than that?”
”So you're just going to take me home, put me in a vault, and see what happens?”
”Hardly. What can a mere man accomplish? He needs a tool. It's as plain to us as it is to the Raeni that Yrsten is connected to Kseleksten.”
”I know nothing of this Kseleksten.”
”Don't take me for a fool! You've studied at Gerentesk to join the Raeni. You know all about Orand and the Prophecy. You will lead us to Kseleksten!”
”And if I can't find it?”
”You already know the answer to that. Be correct, Falling Man: your days of freedom are over. We'll keep you captive if it takes ten years. If it takes a lifetime!”
”Blind confidence will be the death of you, Hodyn worm!” cried Soren. Losien whirled and landed a blow to his temple, knocking the old man on his side.
The soldier who had struck Caleb laughed. ”Didn't want you to feel left out!”
Losien peered nonchalantly up at the sky. ”Dawn comes. We'll rest here, then begin our journey to ... ” he said, and lowered his stare at Caleb.
Caleb swallowed a lump. ”Graxmoar. I may find some clues there.” He caught Soren's glare, and shot, ”What choice do I have?”
Blood oozed from a slit near Soren's eye. ”Two! You'll end up bringing evil upon us without any help from the Prophecy!”
Caleb remembered what he kept hidden in his trouser pocket. You haven't seen the best of my strange gadgets.
”Shut up, both of you,” Losien snapped. ”As for you, Master Raen, be thankful you're worth more alive than dead. Winter comes, and the coffers of Wsaytchen will feed many of my people.”
After a short rest and a quick breakfast, they gathered their horses and started off. The cloud cover was complete now, the dawn slow. Caleb breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared they would search his clothes and find his laser. But a weapon small enough to fit inside someone's pocket and still pose a threat was beyond their experience. In fact, they might have killed somebody in their ignorance. One sweep of its thin beam could cut a man in two faster than the keenest sword.
Losien paid attention to details: he exchanged Caleb and Soren's horses with slower ones, and had Warren ride with one of the Hodyn. Horses were a precious commodity among their people, and these were probably stolen from ranchers within a day's ride of South Grimoa. Caleb, his hands retied crisscross in front to handle the reins, rode behind Soren at the center of the caravan. This included seven Hodyn. The last two riders led a pair of mules, each laden with large water skins and feed for the horses-a clear sign they were headed for the arid, open flatland of central Dernetonde.
Caleb fought to calm himself, to keep from doing something foolish in his desperation. The Hodyn would be on their guard at first. Even with his hands tied he might be able to reach in and retrieve the pistol, but he could never wield it properly. Patience was the key. He had to wait for the right opportunity, even if it took days. Soren was powerless without a weapon of some kind, and rode ahead, his expression hidden from view.
The slow day pa.s.sed, uneventful. The end of the valley drew closer, and as the Hodyn made camp that evening, Caleb overheard a comment that another day's journey would bring them out of the brush, where they could make better progress. Caleb offered a few harmless remarks about the weather, seeking to put them at ease. But they only eyed him suspiciously, and he subsided. Brooding silence was more convincing.
Despite a fitful night's sleep, when they started the next morning he was alert for any change in their captors' vigilance. They appeared to have accepted his show of futility, but he tempered his hopes with good sense. Any attempt at escape would be dangerous, even in the best of circ.u.mstances. And he had to drop Warren's guard with the first shot.
By mid-afternoon the last peak on their right fell behind them, and the bushes thinned out into the hard-baked plain of Dernetonde. Caleb was glad he had waited to act, for now he had an un.o.bstructed view in all directions. Yet still he hesitated. When they camped that night, he knew he had at least another full day before they crossed the flats.
Soren remained stubbornly unresponsive to any attempted conversation, and the Hodyn kept them too far apart for whispering. It would have been a good idea, Caleb thought now in hindsight, to teach Soren a few words of English.
Caleb woke to the cold sting of white flakes settling on his face. As they made ready to start again, he demanded that they temporarily remove his thongs so he could throw on another coat stashed away in his baggage. They saw no harm in this, but when they walked over to untie him his hands trembled with sudden inspiration. Luckily they merely thought him weak and susceptible to the cold. He gulped down the morning meal, his mind awhirl with plans.
He mounted, and looked at Soren for rea.s.surance. But the Master Raen sat on his horse in silence, munching the last bit of his food like a cow chewing its cud. Caleb switched his attention to the horse at his right, and saw a young, haggard face dirty with dried tears. Warren had been separated from his father for more than two days. Caleb studied the guard in the saddle behind him, then turned a grim stare at the flat horizon.
They started off. He waited until the last traces of sleep faded. He placed his bound hands under his coat as if for warmth, keeping them still for a while should the Hodyn grow suspicious and demand that he reveal them. But they said no word.
The time had come. Be calm!
Flexing his fingers to restore their agility, he maneuvered his tied wrists over to the right pocket of his trousers, careful to keep hold of the reins. He wriggled one hand in, and his fingers met the b.u.t.t of the pistol. His heart leaped to his throat. A powerful urge to wait yet another day overwhelmed him, but he mastered it, knowing this might be the last chance.
Caleb slowly twisted the gun out until it rested on his lap beneath the coat. He turned his head casually toward the mountains, eyes sidling to glance behind him. No one had noticed his movements.
He fumbled with the laser to work it into position. The continual lurch and sway of the saddle threatened to dislodge the weapon at any second. But at last the muzzle pointed outward between his hands, the b.u.t.t of the gun in the crook of his right arm. He angled the muzzle slightly to the left to avoid the horse's mane, then bent his wrist until he could barely reach the trigger with his middle finger.
Cold sweat drenched his face, and his ears pounded with the rhythm of his heart. He feared to lose a hand, or drill a hole through his wrist and bleed to death. And what would happen to Warren if he failed?
Gritting his teeth, he pressed the trigger.
A faint crackle, and the thongs parted with a thump. He gasped, for the shot had burned his skin. Then he heard a scream-not a man's, but a horse's. Soren was gripping the horn of his saddle, his horse bucking up and down like a wild bronco.
In other circ.u.mstances he might have laughed. Instead, ready for any advantage, he swung around in the confusion and shot a searing, red line of fire inches over the top of Warren's scalp.
The Hodyn brought his hands to his forehead, dead in the next instant. ”Run, Warren!” Caleb bellowed, then jumped down and began swinging the pistol in all directions.
He hoped Soren, who by now had fallen from his horse, had the sense to stay out of the way. The Hodyn rallied around, and Caleb had no time to choose targets.
He brought them down one by one, alert for anyone reaching for a bow. Their swords were no match for him. All fear fled his mind, and all thought. He was a creature of pure reflex, yelling triumphantly at every kill.