James West - Crown of the Setting Sun

The Hunter cast a sidelong glance at Leitos. “I’m curious, boy, just where did you plan to go when you fled?” His tone was almost friendly, his posture at ease-two mannerisms at odds with what Leitos knew of the man.

“Trust no one, save those of whom I’ve spoken,” Adham had warned, and now Leitos took that warning to heart.

“Away … I just wanted to get away. The slavemasters were butchering everyone.…” he faltered, remembering the smell of blood spilled into the dust, the screams and howls of the dying, his mind skipping over the blank spot during which his grandfather had perished. “I ran because I did not want to die for something that was not my fault,” he added, thinking that might convince the Hunter, if nothing else did. The sheen of tears in his eyes was real enough.

“We’ll sleep in the ruins tonight,” the Hunter said after a time, seemingly satisfied. “There are a few good wells, and I have yet to go hungry when sheltering within those walls. I hope you like wild dog. There are plenty about.”

“Do you know what the town was called before?” Leitos asked, knuckling wetness from his eyes.

The Hunter absently shook his head. “To me, it is and has always been the second bone-town north from Zuladah.”

“Zuladah,” Leitos muttered, his voice shaking from the sudden jump in his pulse. “That is where you’ll give me over to the Alon’mahk’lar .” It was not a question but a statement of truth, based on what the Hunter had previously revealed.

The Hunter did not so much as offer a sympathetic glance in Leitos’s direction. Emboldened by anger and genuine bemusement, Leitos asked the question he had before. “You curse the Alon’mahk’lar and the Faceless One, yet you would hand me over to those who will torture and chain me, as you were once tortured and chained. Why not stand against them, rally men to your side to fight against those who corrupted your own mother?”

Instead of answering, the Hunter scowled in the failing light. With a low curse, he set out at a slow trot toward the ruins of the bone-town. Leitos watched for a moment, thinking about trying to escape under the cover of night, thus avoiding the need to kill his enemy. As before when this thought crossed his mind, he quickly dismissed it. To make good his flight, the Hunter had to die.

With no other choice, Leitos followed the Hunter over a terrain of rock and sand, skirting bushes to avoid thorns, as well as any serpents that might be resting under their scant foliage. In short order, they reached an ancient roadway paved with broken slabs. On firmer ground, the Hunter increased his speed.

Full dark cloaked the lands by the time they reached the outskirts of the bone-town. The stars and the dull gray half-moon gave a little light, but not enough to make out much detail beyond a crumbled wall half buried under drifts of sand. At one time, the warding wall must have stood twenty feet or more. Men bearing spears, bows, and swords would have walked it of an evening, guarding the nameless town against bandits, or welcoming trader caravans and weary travelers. But no more. Now the bricks lay in heaps, wearing away under the constant onslaught of wind-driven sand and infrequent rains.

The Hunter rummaged through the leather satchel hanging by a long strap across his chest. He had worn it since departing the first of two hideaways, and it seemed to hold a great many useful things. Leitos expected the Hunter to pull out some implement to light the way, but instead he produced a tangle of leather thongs, from which hung a pair of teardrop-shaped stones.

“We’ll likely not need these, but we will wear them, just in case.”

“What are they?” Leitos edged closer, until his nose was no more than a hand’s width from touching the thumb-sized amulets. While he was no judge of craftsmanship, it was easy enough to tell that an inept hand had fashioned the reddish stones. Something about that hue, even in the darkness, caught his attention. He had seen such colored stone before, had on occasion dug it from the earth at the mines. He supposed it meant nothing, for there were many types of stone to be found under the desert sands. He focused on the amulets. If not for their similar shapes, he would have guessed the amulets had been found as they were, the only alteration being the holes bored in their points, allowing the threading of the leather thongs.

“Protection,” the Hunter said grimly.

Leitos took one of the crude necklaces and, mimicking the Hunter, dropped it over his head. It was heavier than he expected. “Protection from what?”

“ Mahk’lar , boy,” the Hunter said, settling the satchel against his hip.

Leitos could not help but scoff. “There are no Mahk’lar , not anymore. And even if they did still wander the world, how could a bit of rock offer any protection against them?”

“For the life of me,” the Hunter said, “I cannot understand why the Faceless One bothers to hunt your people so vigorously. If he but let Izutarians alone, they would soon perish of their own stupidity.” He said this in an offhand way, but for no reason Leitos could fathom, he sensed the Hunter knew full well why the Faceless One enslaved his people.

Leitos eyed the lout with a questioning stare. The Hunter ignored him and strode toward what might have been a wide gate in the previous age, but was now just a gap in the bone-town’s wall.

“ Mahk’lar are fewer than once they were,” the Hunter said, “that is true enough, as they nearly bred themselves out of existence. But not all the Fallen wanted to bind their spirits within the weaker flesh of their get, the Alon’mahk’lar , the Sons of the Fallen.”

“So,” Leitos said, “even among the followers of the Faceless One, there is rebellion.”

“I would hardly name it rebellion,” the Hunter retorted. “Rather a covenant that favors the Faceless One. He allows the few remaining Mahk’lar to run loose, but only because it serves his will.”

“And what would that be?”

Instead of an answer, the Hunter suddenly fell into a crouch, searching the ruins, head cocked as if he had heard something. Leitos imitated his posture. Up close, the town’s look of abandonment became a palpable sensation expressing complete loss. He neither heard nor saw anything dangerous, but started when the vague shape of a tumbleweed escaped an alley, rolled slowly across the broad roadway, then vanished into another alley. Then, far away, something thumped and creaked … thumped and creaked … then went still. Leitos imagined a door hanging from rusted hinges, opening and closing under the same gentle wind that had set the tumbleweed on its aimless journey. Farther still, a jackal cried to the night, an eerie, high-pitched yowling.

The Hunter abruptly released the hilt of his knife, straightened, and strode ahead. He appeared at ease, but Leitos knew better. He sensed more than saw a subtle tension in the set of the man’s shoulders, the furtive glances at each and every shadow. Nevertheless, he struck up his discourse again, as if he had never stopped.

“The Faceless One’s will and desire is to instill fear, and through that he exacts obedience,” the Hunter said. “Far as I know, that is all he desires of humankind-complete submission. Prowling Mahk’lar help ensure he gets it.”

Thinking of the slaves occasionally taken from the mines, with never a word about where they went, Leitos suspected that the Faceless One had other things in mind for humans. Yet, if he really was after something else, it did not matter as far as Leitos could see, for the result was the same: humanity in bondage.

For the better part of an hour, Leitos followed the Hunter deeper into the nameless bone-town. The moon rose higher, casting a bit more light. Leitos found himself thinking what his grandfather’s age would be if he had lived before the Upheaval. The answer was impossible to accept. This led to what the Hunter had said, “Men are liars … Your grandfather included.”