The Moroi Hunters Page 12

  Sar-Kyul took a swig from a wineskin atop the table. He proffered it to Shayala: “Spirit?”

  “No,” she declined. The bouquet of wine was potent.

  “Water, then?”

  “No.”

  “Then, please, have a seat and begin,” Sar-Kyul offered, gesturing toward a stool. He retrieved another stool and sat at arm’s-length from his guest.

  Shayala began, “My people are originally from the South. However, I was told, as I was not yet born, the creatures there began a concerted effort to enslave or destroy every tribe.”

  Sar-Kyul leaned forward, placing his elbows upon his knees.

  Shayala continued, “My parents and others from our tribe thought to flee upon the Eastern Ocean. However, our ships were small and hastily constructed. They could not sail far from the shore, and so they followed the coast northward until a storm wrecked them in the northern reaches of Court H’shu. Half were lost in the storm, and half the survivors were lost in the subsequent journey, my own father among them. Those remaining traveled inland, where they encountered and were accepted into the Tribe of Fangs. The Fangs populated the foothills of the northern mountains, where Courts H’shu and Shayala share a border. My mother was already pregnant, and I was born shortly after.”

  It was a tale Shayala had not recounted in over a century, but if she was to persuade this human of her course she would have to draw upon memories and emotions long buried.

  “The Fangs are the only family I’ve known. I have lived among them my entire life, fighting and training. Now, however, it appears Courts H’shu and Shayala are undertaking a similar strategy of capture or extermination of all tribes. After much debate, we decided continual flight only postponed the inevitable, as we would eventually succumb through attrition. Rather, we determined our best option lay in forming an alliance of all tribes and taking the war to the monsters.”

  Sar-Kyul leaned back, engrossed in the telling and contemplating her words. Although the details may have differed, it was a tale that would ring familiar with those of any free tribe. The significance of her last statement did not pass him unnoticed. It was a mad proposition. Mad, but highly appealing.

  Shayala sat quietly, allowing the leader his thoughts and re-burying her reminiscences. In the ensuing silence, the distant barking of dogs was heard.

  After another drink from the skin, Sar-Kyul said with genuine feeling, “A stirring and poignant tale. You have my heartfelt sympathy. And an intriguing proposal, but one I cannot decide upon now. I require time to rest and to fully contemplate your words.” Before Shayala could protest, he held up a hand and continued, “Soon, I wish to hear the rest of your tale, especially your journey to reach us. We will revisit this and, perhaps, bring it before the entire tribe.”

  “Very well,” Shayala said, “but if you delay too long, our chance of success will diminish drastically.”

  Sar-Kyul stood and, looking beyond the pavilion’s flap, called outside. To Shayala, said he, “Until then, Hyular will show you to a tent and ensure you’re adequately fed. She can also provide fresh clothing.”

  Shayala stood, cast a final glance at the dangling heads, and nodded a farewell. Sar-Kyul held the flap open as she exited and fell in with Hyular. Preoccupied as she had been, Shayala had not appreciated, until she again stepped outside, that the pervasive human stench of the camp had significantly lessened while in the pavilion.

  As Hyular escorted her through the camp, Shayala continued to ignore the stares and surreptitious glances from curious humans.

  “That’s a lovely necklace.” Hyular complimented. “Is that gold and amethyst?”

  Shayala muttered an inarticulate reply.

  Hyular followed her observation with a barrage of questions: “What is its provenance?” “Does it have a storied history?” “What is the cut of the gems?” “What sentimental value does it have for you?” “From whom did you receive it?”

  However, Shayala remained stoically adverse to conversation.

  Although unaccustomed to such reticence, the effusive Hyular was undeterred. To fill the silence, she noted sundry personages to Shayala: Rhul the fletcher, carefully fastening a mottled feather to the shaft of an arrow; Uzek the farrier, nailing a metal shoe onto a nervous horse; Furth the weaver, sitting at her loom; Gabor the smith.

  Shayala observed the last tradesman hammering a hot, grayish-white metal upon an anvil. Experience had shown that humans possessed substandard mastery of silver-gilding techniques and relied upon inexact mixtures of silver alloys, either with nickel or copper. Whereas strigoi possessed greater knowledge of the gilding process and forged alloys with a precise admixture of silver, gold, and palladium. Of course, the Court also possessed far greater quantities of the valuable metal. Because of such difficulties in forging argent weapons, the feral humans often used weapons of iron or steel except when battling ruža vlajna, for such metals were incapable of piercing the skin of her kind.

  “Let me show you to the seamstress, Uzra,” offered Hyular in the enthusiastic manner of a newly realized notion. “She can mend your tunic.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “Nonsense, you shouldn’t be going around in such rags,” Hyular persisted. She led Shayala through a maze of tents before calling upon one displaying a thimble and needle design upon its flap. They entered and were greeted by an affable seamstress amid a wide sartorial assortment upon wooden racks.

  Uzra raised herself from her worktable and looked at Shayala. “No, don’t tell me, this warrior woman needs a new outfit, probably not the first, eh?” She let go a little laugh. Without waiting for an answer, she approached Shayala and, using a strip of leather, began taking measurements.

  Hyular said, “Sar-Kyul himself requested it. He will settle up.” Uzra only nodded in response.

  After a minute, the seamstress said, “To get a perfect fit, I will have to make you up something, but I may have some items that would fit you well enough.” Uzra removed a long-sleeved tunic dress and a leather jerkin from a corner rack. The tunic fit fairly well, though the jerkin was snug, made for a woman of less endowment.

  “Thank you, Uzra,” Hyular said when Shayala still refused to speak.

  “Of course, of course,” the seamstress replied with a glowing smile. “Come back in a week, and I should have something better fitting for you.”

  Shayala turned to leave, followed quickly by Hyular. Shortly after departing the clothier, Shayala observed women instructing a knot of children, who appeared to be of wide-ranging ages, in the particulars of language. The next site to impress upon Shayala’s notice was a ridge tent, only slightly smaller than Sar-Kyul’s pavilion, with four guards posted. “What is that tent?”

  An unexpected fierceness flashed in Hyular’s eyes, though it quickly passed, leaving a mild embarrassment. She replied, “My apologies, but it’s not my place to say. You must ask Sar-Kyul.”

  Shayala briefly imagined one of her Court refusing to answer her question, but the thought could not stand against the absurdity of the notion.

  “Are you hungry?” Hyular asked.

  “No.”

  “I am. And once you smell the food, I know you will be, too,” Hyular said.

  Hyular turned to her left and passed between two tents, leading Shayala expertly through the maze. They came upon a clearing containing three long wooden tables with benches along either side, at which a score of humans sat. A spit-impaled swine turned above a fire, and two large kegs and a supply of treen cups sat on the adjacent side. Baskets of bread and raw vegetables were at either end of the tables. The stink of roasted meat and the sight of humans eating in their disgusting manner were offensive to Shayala’s senses.

  “Sar-Kyul has ordered no one is to go hungry, and anyone may come to eat and drink and gossip,” Hyular explained. She retrieved several pieces of bread, then cut herself a healthy portion from the shoulder of the swine. She sat beside a human male and gestured for Shayala to join her. “Shenla, this is
Gorel. Gorel, Shenla.”

  Gorel was tanned, leathery, and brawny, with a shaggy, unkempt beard and a similar mop of hair. His swarthy complexion and good-natured countenance were slightly flushed from an indulgence of drink. His attire was coated in dirt, dried mud, and soot.

  Gorel stood and gave a slight bow. “Pleasure.”

  “Hmm,” was Shayala’s only response. She sat opposite the two.

  “You should eat,” Hyular said.

  With some annoyance, Shayala answered, “Not hungry.”

  “Ye look t’be a healthy woman,” Gorel observed, laughing at his own comment.

  Hyular slapped Gorel playfully on his shoulder. “Shenla is new among us. Where’re you from, Shenla?”

  “The east.”

  “I’ve never met anyone from the east before,” Hyular said.

  Shayala remained taciturn.

  Hyular persisted, “What’s it like there?” “What brings you here?” “How was your journey?”

  “Do you ever cease talking?” Shayala asked, deliberating, almost earnestly, whether her throne was worth such inanity.

  “Not much for talkin’ are ye, lass?” Gorel asked, trying to lighten the uncomfortable situation. “No trouble, there be plenty else we can do.” He laughed again, half-heartedly. Hyular did not react and kept her eyes downcast.

  The remainder of the meal was conducted in relative silence, with only the occasional, subdued comment between Hyular and Gorel.

  Upon finishing her repast, Hyular pecked Gorel upon the cheek. “Tonight?”

  “T’be sure, lass.” Gorel gave a wink to Shayala.

  Hyular led Shayala from the plaza and through the tent-lined aisles, finally entering a bell tent. Within were four large fur pallets and many smaller ones. Each of the latter held an infant. Two women moved from pallet to pallet, inspecting and doting upon the babes. A nursery.

  Hyular said, “I don’t know your customs in the east, but here the children belong to the tribe.” Elatedly, as if Shayala’s earlier ill temper was already forgotten, she added, “You can help us care for the little ones.”

  I would obliterate the camp before I served as caretaker for human children. Glancing at the occupied pallets, she also thought, The infants in this tent alone would provide for a royal feast. Shayala said, “I will not.”

  Hyular appeared forlorn. “At least for tonight.” Then, bitterly, “You can speak to Sar-Kyul tomorrow about a more fitting role.”

  Rather than lash out at the irksome woman, Shayala simply withdrew from the tent. She considered returning to Sar-Kyul but decided her cause would not be advanced by prematurely pressing the issue. Still, although he had been intrigued, she could not wait indefinitely for him to consider the proposition.

  Shayala walked aimlessly. A number of humans greeted her or attempted conversation, but she ignored them all. She came upon another common, circumferenced by a throng of cheering humans. She pushed through the crowd and gained a view of two humans engaged in combat: a male wielding a wooden battle axe fought a tawny female armed with a wooden bō. The latter Shayala recognized from the battle against the nosferatu.

  As Shayala observed, the female moved through a balletic, twirling routine, continually deflecting the axe. Although the male was skilled, he could not penetrate the defensive shell created by the blurred, whirring bō—a long quarterstaff. He grew progressively more impatient, leading to clumsier and more desperate attacks. As the sun was swallowed by the western horizon, the female jabbed her tiring opponent in the chest, then spun the bō to her right, landing a finishing blow to the left side of his head, dropping him heavily.

  Day 13: Night

  A lamplighter lit pole torches around the periphery of the common. Two men dragged the defeated human from the arena. Although dazed, he would recover. The crowd laughed and jeered as bets were paid and collected. With a flourish of her bō, the female asked, “Next?”

  Sar-Kyul mentioned bringing my proposition before the entire tribe. As these humans apparently respect battle prowess, such a demonstration may increase the weight of my voice in support of the proposed alliance. Shayala stepped forward. “I am.”

  The woman and the crowd were taken aback by the unexpected volunteer, though the latter quickly overcame its surprise and began to cheer.

  As if it were the only explanation necessary, the woman said, “I am Aya, second only to Sar-Kyul himself.” Her tone was candid, and her expressive aspect and vivid taupe eyes conveyed what appeared to be concern. She kept her long chocolate hair in a tightly plaited ponytail and wore black soft boots, dark brown leggings, and a light brown woolen tunic.

  “I am challenge enough,” Shayala replied, to which the crowd hooted all the more.

  Aya shrugged and pointed with her bō to a collection of wooden weapons at the side of the commons. “Choose your weapon.”

  Shayala removed the swords from her belt and selected two bokken, wooden training swords. Both possessed small, squared guards, though one sword was straight-edged and the other slightly curved. Shayala stepped into the arena. Aya held her bō at its midpoint and extended it vertically in salute; Shayala crossed her swords before her in response. Gnats and moths swarmed to the light of the torches.

  Aya twirled her bō, stalking her opponent. Shayala had the advantage of having observed her adversary, though she doubted such advantage would prove necessary. More concerning was the likelihood of defeating this woman too quickly and, consequently, raising inconvenient questions by the onlookers.

  Aya launched several testing blows against Shayala, who easily deflected them. The two opponents circled. Aya unleashed a flurry, which Shayala dodged without parrying. Whereas the swinging bō appeared as only a blur to human eyes, Shayala could discern the moving weapon with significant clarity. Shayala’s evasion elicited caution and respect from Aya and gasps from the bystanders. However, the human was too disciplined to allow her opponent’s display to intimidate her; rather, she ceased her advance, forcing Shayala to take the offensive.

  Now, Shayala executed an attacking routine, against which Aya was not significantly strained to parry. Crisscrossing the torchlit plaza, both combatants attacked and parried, riposted and counterattacked. The shadows from the torchlight created an indistinct, unsubstantial projection of the contest upon the grassless earth, like a sciamachy in accompaniment to the corporeal battle. The crack of wood upon wood sounded in the night air.

  Shayala eluded a swing aimed at her temple. Aya quickly spun the bō toward Shayala’s left flank. Shayala blocked with a downstroke, thrusting her other weapon forward to jab Aya in the left shoulder, driving the human backward. Despite the sting, Aya was back on her guard immediately.

  Shayala pressed the advantage, forcing the human to do naught but defend. Despite the quickness of her movements, she deliberately slowed her attacks lest her speed appear inhuman. To reinforce the deception, she allowed a blow to land against her shoulder and feigned a display of pain at the strike. Even as Shayala held back in her attacks, she tacitly congratulated the woman on her skill. Although she was well aware of the prowess that some humans could possess, Shayala had put such knowledge aside.

  It is time to end the battle, Shayala thought. In expectation that an awkward strike would entice the human into an attack of opportunity, Shayala executed a double overhead blow, which Aya parried with her bō held horizontally.

  Aya stepped forward, pushing both bokken higher before pivoting for a quick blow to the side of Shayala’s chest. A human would have been caught by the maneuver, but the strigoi leaned away as the bō passed overhead with a whistle of air. Aya was overbalanced and could not recover before Shayala dropped into a spinning crouch. Her leading sword struck the human hard on the right shin, sounding a clap that elicited winces from the audience; the trailing sword impacted the woman’s abdomen, driving the breath from her even as she was knocked to the ground.

  After a moment of stunned silence, the crowd erupted into another round of cheers a
nd exclamations. Shayala dropped both bokken and proffered a hand to the vanquished woman. Aya accepted the assistance and stood, breathing with some difficulty and favoring her right leg, upon which a welt was already forming.

  Aya, who could not quite believe the exhibition of proficiency by this unknown woman, looked at her with wonderment and respect.

  Shayala caught the look. “You’re quite skilled, but you had just come from another fight.”

  “But you’re not even winded. And your speed…” Aya let the comment hang.

  Shayala shrugged. “We will fight again when you’re fresh.”

  Before Aya could say more, both turned toward the sound of slow, steady applause drawing nearer.

  “Well fought, both of you,” Sar-Kyul complimented, coming to stand before them, though he looked at Shayala.

  “Thank you,” both replied.

  “Are you up for a bit more exertion?” he asked Shayala. She nodded.

  “Aya, before you protest,” he continued, “please recover and rest your leg. You have nothing to prove by joining us tonight.”

  Although appearing as if she would dissent, Aya simply nodded and limped away. Shayala glanced questioningly at the leader.

  With a wide grin, said he, “Tonight, we hunt.”

  Shayala retrieved her blades and followed Sar-Kyul to the northeastern fringe of the camp, where twenty armed humans awaited them. The night was temperate, and only a few humans wore a mantle. Having no place to store her cloak, Shayala chose to wear it.

  With obvious eagerness, the leader said, “The monsters may hunt us, but we, too, hunt them. When they attacked last night, we could not risk capturing them while the camp was in danger. Now, however, the risk is to them.” He smiled widely.

  Capture? Though Shayala did not voice her question.

  The humans organized into pairs. Shayala stood beside Sar-Kyul at the head of the party. The human leader and several others carried the blood-stained carcass of a fowl. Several warriors carried a brand and spare torches.