David Farland - Beyond the Gate

Zell’a Cree knew that the humans no longer walked abroad at night because they were afraid of his hunting pack, and it was only that fear that made it possible for his people to penetrate so deeply into the human lands. If the humans banded together and went abroad in the dark, his hunters would be no match for them. But the humans did not know this, and so fear protected Zell’a Cree’s men. He could not gainsay Red Hand’s argument, no matter how repulsive he might find it.

“What do the rest of you think?” Zell’a Cree asked, hoping that the imaginative Ewod might be able to find a reason to extend mercy.

The second Tekkar, whom Zell’a Cree called Garrote because the man always kept a garrote wrapped at his waist to use as a belt, said, “If an Inhuman kills a human, the humans send their assassins to take vengeance. We should do no less.”

“And if we kill these humans, will we not be lowering ourselves to their standards?” Zell’a Cree said. “The way of the Inhuman is a way to peace.”

“Yes,” Ewod said nervously. “I tried to tell the humans that. But they feared the Word.”

Zell’a Cree glanced at his men. “The Inhuman does not seek vengeance, it seeks converts above all. Yet justice must also be done. We shall hunt this woman and offer her a choice: she may accept the Word, or lose her life.”

Zell’a Cree held his breath a moment, and his men grunted their assent. The Tekkar immediately raised their heads, trying to catch the woman’s scent, but whereas their night vision was stronger than Zell’a Cree’s, his sense of smell far outmatched theirs. He could smell the woman now, the subtle aroma of strange perfumes about her, like nothing he’d ever come across before. And he could smell the bear, its heavy fur.

He rushed down the street, under the cover of darkness, his men flitting behind him like shadows. For nearly an hour he tracked them through the streets. It was a difficult task, even for Zell’a Cree, for it was not long past dusk, and the odors of thousands of travelers were still fresh on the night air.

Their scout flew ahead, and once he spotted the humans and they tried to set a hasty ambush, but the humans turned aside from their course.

Still, it was not hard to pick up their trail again. Zell’a Cree held to the exotic scent of the woman, a scent utterly alien, until at last he came to a warehouse that covered most of a block. It was an old stone building that had once been a great covered market, but now the huge arched doorways had been filled with new brick, leaving but one small opening under a portico.

Bending near the door, Zell’a Cree tasted the scent-and discovered the earthy vegetable odor of Bock. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, so that he would remember those smells, recognize their owners as if they were old friends.

Zell’a Cree pulled on the door, but it was barred inside, as he’d expected. He backed up, looked at the building from outside. The old warehouse had two high windows that were barred. Ssaz was already at the bars, tugging on them. But the batlike creature didn’t have the strength in his hands to pull the bars loose.

“We could pry open the door,” one of the Tekkar suggested, breathing down Zell’a Cree’s neck. The Tekkar’s voice was annoyingly loud to Zell’a Cree’s sensitive ears.

“We don’t know if they’re in there,” Zell’a Cree said. “They may have left another way. Besides, if they remained within, they may have accomplices. I can smell several people who have entered here recently.”

He nodded toward the Tekkar. “Each of you circle the building, checking for other doors. If you catch the woman’s scent there, call us. Do not try to fight this woman alone. I will go up on the roof and listen for them, see if I can hear them inside.”

He only hoped that the Tekkar would follow his orders. The Tekkar had been bred for life on a violent world, and were prone to viciousness. Both of the men were likely to kill their prey without notice. And given their skill in battle, their blinding speed, the woman would not stand a chance against them.

Zell’a Cree’s ancestors were designed for life on a world where the air hung so heavy it would choke humans, and the gravity would make the blood pool in a human’s legs till the vessels burst. It was a dark world, swathed in eternal mists, and so Zell’a Cree’s ancestors had been gifted by the Immortals with compensations-eyes that could see in the dark, a sense of smell as keen as a wolf’s, hearing as sharp as an owl’s.

Zell’a Cree looked more human than any of his companions, but even now, the sensitive hairs in his ears twitched, and he listened for the sounds of voices.

“Ssaz, fly up and make certain that our prey does not leave the building,” Zell’a Cree whispered. “Ewod, you hide in the shadows and watch this door. I’ll try to find them inside.”

The scout unfurled his wings and leapt into the air, swooping down and then flapping madly. Zell’a Cree grasped the rough stone walls of the building with his fingertips, finding chinks in the stone with his fingers and toes, then climbed up quickly two stories to the roof, crawling over the moss-covered slate tiles, listening, trying to catch a scent.

In moments his knees were wet and bore cuts from the slate roof, but he hardly noticed, he was so intent. Several times he heard the sounds of rats in the rooms below him, their shrieking voices and feet padding over the wooden floors, but Zell’a Cree passed them by, straining to hear above the softly gusting wind, until at last he heard voices echoing in a room beneath him, and he stopped.

The night was nearly silent, and the humans below him, with their dull senses, were utterly unaware. “… The Inhuman will not hold harmless those who have slain its members.” A girl was speaking, or a young woman, more likely. He imagined that it was the swordswoman speaking. She had a commanding voice, which was at the same time soft and mellifluous. “We must flee at dawn.”

“Are you sure you want to come with us?” a young man asked. “It will be a long trip, and if I’m to protect you, it seems to me that the best way to do that is to leave you here.”

“I need to come,” the young woman replied. “Many servants of the Inhuman respect the Tharrin. You will need their help in finding the Harvester. You’ll get that easier with me around. Besides, we requested a Lord Protector simply because I can no longer trust anyone here. The number of those who have been converted by the Inhuman is growing. I would not count myself safer here than in your presence.”

“What of the giant, Rougaire? He seems trustworthy.”

The woman lowered her voice, and by this Zell’a Cree guessed that the giant must still be in the building, and the woman did not want him to hear her words. “Trustworthy, yes, but he is not your match as a warrior. In battle he is both as graceful and as dangerous as a dancing elephant. Still, he has a great heart. But if we are to win through to Moree, we will require stealth, and Rougaire lacks that capacity.”

“And will the Bock be coming?”

“No,” the Tharrin said. “He’s ill-suited to travel and is incapable of defending himself in an attack.” She hesitated. “And what of you? You say the High Judge sent you here. How did you earn her trust?”

“Maggie and I killed the Lords of the Swarm, and Maggie banished the dronon from the human worlds.”

There was a pause, and Zell’a Cree sat openmouthed at his good fortune. To find a Tharrin and the new human Lords of the Swarm both at once-it was incredible. “You did that?” the Tharrin asked.

“Aye,” the young man said, and his voice was weary. As if to change the subject, he said, “You said the servants of the Inhuman will be hunting us. Will they attack tonight?”