Page 15 of The Last


  “What?” I asked.

  “Luca,” said Khara. “Stand up in the fighting pose.”

  He did. Khara bent down until she was more or less my height. “See, a soldier is prepared to counter attacks. He knows how to parry the usual sword strokes. But he’s not trained for this.”

  With that she dived between Luca’s legs, landed hard on the ground, and slid beneath him, her blade angled just so. The blade slid along the inner seam of Luca’s trousers.

  “Ah!” Luca cried, checking himself for cuts.

  “Stop being a baby! I didn’t cut you.” Khara jumped to her feet. “Although I could have.”

  Luca gave her a sour look. Tobble giggled behind his paw.

  I practiced the move, but not with Luca. Ten times Khara ordered me to leap and hold my blade high, and ten times I landed on my chest and elbows. Then came the alternate approach, a leap and a midair twist that landed me on my shoulder and hip. That move was less painful and would have drawn my “sword” along the inside of a foe’s thigh.

  “There’s a great deal of blood if you cut the right artery,” Khara said in a calm voice more suited for discussing the weather.

  She kept us at it for hours, and Luca and I were both exhausted by the time she called a halt.

  “I need a weapon, too,” Tobble said firmly.

  “Your best weapon, Tobble,” said Khara, “is the very fact that no one expects you to put up a fight.”

  “Tobble is braver than all of us put together,” I said.

  Luca laughed, but Khara’s glare shut him down. “That little wobbyk fought an onslaught of serpents to defend Byx. I doubt you’d be up to that task, scholar.”

  “You don’t want to see an angry wobbyk,” Tobble warned.

  Luca rolled his eyes. “I stand forewarned,” he said, polishing the hilt of his sword with his tunic. “In any case. Am I ready to face down a soldier, Khara?”

  Khara’s lips fought a smile. “Attack me,” she said. “Use everything you’ve got.”

  Luca did. Thirty seconds later, after much furious swinging and stabbing, he let his sword drop to the ground. “What point is there if you can beat me so easily?” he demanded.

  “Soldiers are trained from the age of sixteen, when they’re first enlisted as cadets,” Khara said. “I was trained from age three. We Donatis may be in disgrace. We may be impoverished. But my father made sure I knew how to fight.”

  Without another word, Khara spun gracefully and with breathtaking speed attacked a nearby sapling. In less time than it would take me to blink twice, she had lopped off two branches and hacked the tree in half.

  It fell, scattering a family of mice.

  Luca and I gaped in disbelief.

  “Now listen to me,” she said, her voice intense. “Understand something. Your enemy is not helpless just because you’ve drawn blood. Your enemy is not helpless until he stops breathing. If you find yourself in a fight, that is your goal: not to frighten, not to wound. But to kill.”

  The scabbard belt around my waist felt very tight. The dagger in my hand felt very heavy. But weightier still was the fear that I might someday have to put to use what Khara had taught me.

  37.

  In the Land of the Raptidons

  We came to a vast, open plain called “the Infina.” As far as the eye could see, the land stretched in low, rolling hills crisscrossed by streams that, Khara explained, disappeared in summer and returned with the autumn rains. Here and there small clumps of trees punctuated the green-and-gold tapestry.

  The raptidons flew here, high overhead, forever on the lookout for prey. Half a dozen were within sight, circling as they rode the upwelling air. Every stand of trees contained a rookery.

  “We have to stay off the road,” Khara said. “But we’ll be in the open. Never forget that some of the raptidons may have arrangements with the Murdano’s army.”

  “You mean they spy?” Tobble asked.

  “Not most,” Khara said. “They’re proud folk, the raptidons. Most won’t sink to spying, but a few will.”

  “They’re impressive scholars,” Luca observed. “On the isle they teach about what they call physicalism, the science of world forces. They are deeply knowledgeable about wind and rain, angles and curves, the effect of the ground’s natural attraction to objects. And they know their stars as well as the wisest human scholar.”

  “In any case,” Khara said, “we will attempt to avoid dealing with the raptidons. They have no claim on the land, only on their own rookeries and nests.”

  Since we were off the road and in unknown territory, we decided to travel by day, despite our fatigue. The sun was bright, and only a few fleecy clouds floated overhead, their shadows racing across the grass. Recent rain had filled the little streams so we could wash and drink and brew tea.

  That night, while we set up camp, Khara rode Vallino ahead to scout. She came back with a pair of pheasants and a wild yekat. Tobble and I plucked the feathers and gave the yekat to Gambler, as it had fewer bones. We dressed the pheasants and roasted them over a small fire.

  Khara brought news as well. “I spotted a troop of garilans heading south.”

  “Garilans?” I asked.

  “Ah, real food. At last!” Gambler said. Perhaps unconsciously, he extended his needle-sharp claws in anticipation.

  “Being from the south, you may know them as dervi, Byx,” Luca said, licking his fingers. “They’re huge beasts that run on six legs, have long necks, and—”

  “Yes!” I interrupted. “Dervi! They come south in the spring, along with other species.”

  Khara put another branch on the fire. “Do you know about the northern migration that happens each fall, Byx? In Nedarran it’s called the ‘Viagatto.’”

  “Maia told me about it. And Myxo, our pathfinder, spoke of it often.”

  I felt my chest tighten. Merely saying those names aloud—Maia, Myxo—brought back all the pain of their loss. Tobble put his paw on my arm and gave me an encouraging nod.

  “The last day I saw Maia,” I said softly, “we saw four butterbats. That was not even a month ago. She said they were heading north. They were so—” My voice caught.

  “So beautiful?” Tobble finished for me.

  I nodded, and tears fell against my will. The fire spit and crackled, and a stardove let out a mournful call from a nearby tree.

  I felt guilty letting my pain show. These were my fellow travelers, taking risks for me, and it was my job to be strong. I wasn’t the leader—clearly that was Khara’s role. But we’d all been through hardships.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, looking at each in turn. Khara, her gaze steady and thoughtful. Tobble, the picture of concern. Gambler, his tail flicking, eyes slitted, unreadable. And Luca, watching my tears fall with the odd fascination of an academic.

  “You don’t need to be sorry, Byx,” Khara said. “We know you’ve gone through a lot.”

  “We all have,” I said, chin raised, voice firmer. “So. Tell me more about the garilans.”

  “By the time they reach the south, they begin to break up into smaller herds and bands,” Khara said. “But during the Viagatto, you can see tens of thousands of them, all moving as one. Most animals head south as it gets colder. But a few species—garilans, tirralopes, butterbats, giant warblers—go north. No one is certain why.”

  “You think they’ll come this way?” Gambler asked, unable to hide the glittery excitement in his predator’s eyes.

  “I suspect they’ll follow the Telarno River north,” Khara said. “It’s about, oh, half a day’s walk to our west.”

  The next morning we started out early. Gambler walked far to our left, closest to where he hoped the garilans would pass. I felt sorry for him. He was doing many things that weren’t natural for a felivet, starting with the fact that he was traveling with others. Felivets assemble to debate and discuss, and they mate and have young. But most don’t form a family.

  Add to that the fact that Gambler was traveling with c
reatures he was perfectly capable of killing and eating. I didn’t wish for the death of any dervi (or garilans), but I did hope Gambler could find a satisfying meal. At very least, it might allow Tobble to relax a bit. He was still skittish around the big cat.

  It was noon when three of us—Gambler, Vallino, and I—smelled something on the breeze.

  I stopped, breathed in, and found familiar clues in the faint tendrils of scent-bearing air.

  Vallino pranced nervously and tossed his head.

  “Humans,” Gambler said.

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  “And horses,” Gambler said.

  “You may be smelling farmers or other travelers,” Luca suggested.

  Khara swung herself up onto Vallino’s back, shaded her eyes, and looked south. “I see a dust cloud. A league away.” She shook her head. “I can’t tell what they are.”

  We kept moving, but Gambler and I kept exchanging worried looks. Human and horse, leather and dogs. Maybe it was a hunting party. But maybe it was not.

  “Would your poacher friends still be looking for you after all this time?” I asked Khara.

  She shook her head and laughed. “Poachers don’t have the attention span for a long trip unless there’s a sizable reward at the end. They’re criminals, not soldiers.”

  The word “soldiers” hung in the air.

  Khara led us toward a stand of trees thick with raptidons, poised on nearly every branch like giant fruit. She stopped us at a respectful distance. Facing the rookery, she unbuckled her sword belt and placed it on the ground.

  “Come with me, Byx,” she said.

  “But . . . but you said they can be spies. Do we want them to see me?”

  It was Gambler who explained. “As your nose is superior to a human’s, so the eyes of the raptidons are superior to the eyes of all other creatures. Do you see that raptidon perched on the highest branch? He not only knows you’re a dairne. He knows the color of your eyes. He sees the bread crumb on your lip.”

  I blinked and brushed the crumb away.

  “Are you coming?” I asked Gambler. I had great faith in Khara’s sword, but I’d also ridden on Gambler’s back and knew his speed and power.

  “We don’t get along, felivets and raptidons. They steal our kills.” Gambler chewed a nail. “And in retaliation we occasionally eat one of their kind.”

  I grinned. “You forget. I’m a dairne.”

  A felivet’s smile is all in the eyes. “Are you suggesting that I’ve told an untruth?”

  “The words ‘retaliation’ and ‘occasionally’ sort of leapt out at me.”

  Gambler let loose his loud, hoarse laugh. “I may have shaded the truth a bit. It’s possible that I’ve eaten one or two raptidons, maybe three.”

  I gave him a look.

  “Or it maybe closer to twenty or thirty.”

  “Let’s get this over with,” Khara said, squaring her shoulders. “Come on, Byx.”

  I dropped my own sword—to my mind, that sounded more reassuring than “knife” or “dagger”—and fell into step beside her. We walked forward, hands held out at our sides, palms forward, to show we were unarmed.

  “Be careful, Byx!” Tobble called.

  We’d gone only a few paces when Khara stopped. She turned, hands on hips, and said, “Tobble, we don’t have all day.”

  “Me?” Tobble leapt to his feet and dashed toward us.

  Khara winked at me. I’d never seen a human wink before, and my first thought was that she had something in her eye, until I remembered my lessons from Dalyntor. Dairnes don’t wink, as it often implies a shared secret or even a lie.

  Still, I realized what Khara was telling me: She was asking Tobble to join us for his sake, not for ours. It was a kind gesture, even if it didn’t make much practical sense, and I was grateful.

  We walked slowly, the three of us, trying not to seem threatening. What had from a distance appeared to be just a stand of a dozen or so trees turned out to be far more elaborate. T-perches were planted in the earth, and the trees contained numerous platforms. As we neared, a raptidon guard with red tail feathers swooped down to land on a perch.

  “You approach a raptidon rookery,” the guard announced. “Why do you come?”

  “You see that we are unarmed,” Khara said.

  “I see many things. I see a girl human pretending to be a boy human. I see a felivet and a wobbyk and a horse. And I see one who does not exist anymore.” His last sentence was uttered with what I interpreted as a smirk. Raptidons do not have lips. They speak using only their tongues and throats. So the smirk was all about intonation, not facial expression. Raptidons are known to have a high opinion of themselves, and little respect for “ground worms,” as they sometimes call flightless species.

  “The eyes of your people are legendary,” Khara said in a placating voice. “No one has greater respect for the raptidons than I. You are rulers of the sky. I approach with humble questions, not threats.”

  The raptidon debated her request, head tilted to one side. “You may enter,” he said at last.

  And so we did.

  38.

  Rorid Headcrusher

  We crossed the perimeter and stepped beneath the trees. Birds were everywhere, in the branches above us, gliding by in the air, even strutting on the ground. Nests of all shapes and sizes dotted platforms and hung suspended from branches. Some were plain and workmanlike, made of mud and reeds. Others were more elaborate, woven with a tapestry of silver and gold vines.

  Here and there, food lay in neat piles: dead mice and voles, salamanders and frogs, tiny, broken songbirds. Two kestrels snacked on a disemboweled weasel, not much smaller than Tobble.

  We faced a cleared space amid the trees. In the middle stood a T-perch, ornately carved and taller than all the others. I felt a shadow as a great raptidon swooped down to land with disdainful ease on the perch.

  The guard said, “You have the honor of addressing Rorid Headcrusher.”

  “Rorid Headcrusher” was not a name to inspire much confidence in a small dairne, let alone a wobbyk. Rorid spread his gray and tawny wings in a display meant to impress us, and impress us he did. It was easily thirty feet from tip-feather to tip-feather. His yellow talons, which ended in filigreed silver tips, were as thick as Khara’s ankles. His beak was hooked and sharp, as cruel looking a weapon as I had ever seen.

  He was terrifying, and no part of him was more terrifying than his pale yellow eyes, each encircled with a black ring. They cut right through us, those eyes.

  “My lord, Rorid Headcrusher,” Khara said. She knelt on one knee, and Tobble and I followed suit.

  Rorid was not one for casual conversation. In a squawking accent he asked, “Have you brought me tribute?”

  “We are but poor travelers,” Khara said. “We have nothing that would interest a great lord of the sky.”

  “You have a wobbyk,” Rorid said flatly.

  “He’s a friend,” Khara said. “It’s not the habit of my people to sacrifice their friends. Not even for one so mighty as you, my lord.”

  Rorid emitted a sound like a crow. I think it was a laugh. “Ah, yes, humans never turn against their friends.”

  “Let me amend that. I do not betray my friends.”

  Maybe Rorid appreciated her courage. Maybe he was already bored. Maybe he was planning on summoning his folk to tear us all apart. I was desperately hoping Khara could read a raptidon’s expression. I certainly couldn’t. However, if he lied, I would be able to sense it—I hoped.

  “You seek information,” Rorid said. It was not a question.

  “Yes, lord. We have noticed a band of humans on horses. But our eyes are not the eyes of the raptidons.”

  “Information,” Rorid said. “If you want information, you must give information. Tell us something we do not know.”

  “Your sources are better than mine,” Khara said. “But I can tell you that—”

  Rorid fluttered a wing, cutting her off. “Dairne. Do you undertake
to perform the ancient duty of your people?”

  It took me a few seconds of blank and panicky staring to realize he was asking me whether I would vouch for the truth of what was being said.

  “Yes, sir. I mean, my lord, um . . . Headcrusher.”

  He jerked his beak at Khara.

  “I can tell you that we have come from the isle,” Khara said. “From the eumony, the premature funeral of the dairnes.”

  “Ah. Scholars.”

  “Not I,” Khara said. “But the other human with us was an apprentice to scholars.”

  “And you are a hunter.”

  “Sometimes, yes.”

  “A killer of raptidons?”

  “Never by design,” Khara said evasively. Then: “I have killed one. I was aiming my arrow at a squirrel but it flew wide of the mark. It was a mistake.”

  Rorid took this in. “A mistake indeed, but at least you admit it. So, hunter, what news of the isle?”

  “Well, you know about the eumony. And you see that I have a dairne with me. We meant to reveal the truth—”

  I held up a hand. If Headcrusher was to believe us, I needed to perform my duty fairly.

  Khara saw it, looked annoyed then accepting, took a deep breath, and said, “I captured this dairne while hunting in the south. I meant to sell her to a scholar of my acquaintance, a man I trusted would welcome such a discovery.”

  Rorid laughed his bird laugh, long and hard. Had he been capable of tears, I think he might have wept from laughter.

  His penetrating gaze fell on me again. “Let me tell you what happened. This scholar betrayed you.”

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  “Do you know why dairnes were so prized in ancient times?” Rorid asked.

  “I’ve been told it was because we could separate truth from lies.”

  “It’s because no other species could trust humans unless dairnes were there to speak truth. Humans are liars,” he said, venom in his voice. “Their word is meaningless. Their promises last only until the echoes of their lies have died out.”

  Turning back to Khara, he said, “So you flee the isle.”