Renegade: 2

Arthur bounced down onto the back of the horse again. He was used to riding, but being bound to the back of a horse was a jarring experience he never wanted to be part of again. It seemed to go on for an eternity. Time was a subjective blur of pain. Three times, at least, he'd seen darkness fall, and during the entire time he'd been allowed off the horse less than a dozen times to relieve himself. Three days then, or maybe a little more. They even slept on the horses and he was sore in a way he didn't believe possible after all the time he'd spent in a saddle the last months. There had to be an end to the torment, and from the looks of the other horsemen they seemed to be nearing it. Arthur tried to look up, but he was too tired to keep his concentration long enough to analyze the small tidbits of information he managed to scrap together, too tired and too hungry. They hadn't been fed even once during the ride.

When they finally halted he failed to notice even that. Someone untied him, but he fell asleep before he was dragged off the horse.

#

Gring woke. She sat up and stretched her sore muscles. They were in a cell, more of a pen than a proper prison. The wooden bars were not thick enough to hold her, but the thought of abandoning her companions held her more firmly than any wall could have done.

She would make sure Kharg paid for his dishonor when they encountered civilized beings again. They were still surrounded by oath breakers, and the only human apart from her made his very best to behave like a halfman himself. That shamed her, that and the fact he'd displayed his dishonor in the presence of halfmen.

She rose and started walking to bring warmth to her legs. Carefully. She didn't want to wake Arthur and the girl. They were weak, as all halfmen were, but at least Arthur had shown a resolve that was promising. He couldn't help being caught in an inferior body, and as long as his mind was strong she had no right to despise him. To do so would be to diminish the honor he'd earned for himself.

The halfmen intrigued her, had always done. They were weak and fickle. Never to be fully trusted, and yet, sometimes they shone brightly with an inner light as strong as any human. If she hadn't known better, and darkness knew she'd been given a proper upbringing, she could have thought some of them were almost worthy of being called humans. Not always, of course, but still. That suspicion nagged at her, shamed her at times and made her wonder if she was indeed behaving in an honorable way. Who was she, after all, to question the wisdom of her elders?

It was curiosity and the need to learn more that had driven her to follow the halfman taleweaver when by all rights she should have started trekking back to Gaz to receive new orders before spring arrived. Well, she were headed in the right direction. She wouldn't be many eightdays late if she left the caravan at the Brakish border. If she left the caravan, she corrected herself. They were prisoners now, and darkness only knew when she could go back home again.

She managed another six full circles before her misgivings finally gave way, and then she sat down to meditate. They would be called for when it suited their captors.

That time came sooner than she believed. Arthur and Chaijrild were still asleep, and Gring had to force them awake. They complained weakly before following her on stiff legs when they were let out.

A temporary village, what the halfmen called a camp. Tents were erected to create a pattern of streets rather than for easy protection. Stupid, but that was only to be expected from the skinless ones.

In a distance she saw a pyre. Apparently they burned their dead. They had some decency after all. She sniffed. The air was filled with the smell of burning flesh. The pyre must have been burning for close to half a day.

Gring saw halfmen around her, some of them women. They gave her looks filled with hatred mingled with fear. That was good. They should fear her. She may not be a warrior, but they must still have known she could kill many of them long before she was brought down.

She growled at a man who came too close, and it was with some satisfaction she caught the odor of barely controlled fear as he frantically tried to move out of her way. Gring willed her glands to pour out more of the predator's scent and locked eyes with those facing her. They scattered.

"Why the show? They are hardly worth it."

Gring growled. The smell of Kharg was becoming all too familiar by now.

"Have you forgotten that we used to hunt them?"

"No, and nor that we were all but wiped out as a result," he replied.

"Bah! Numbers, nothing else!"

"You're not a warrior. Any weapon will do in war. A woman's womb is as good as any other weapon. They may be inferior in combat, but darkness, they do know how to breed."

"Our ancestors should have killed them."

"Maybe, but this is a war we can no longer win, and so we share the same lands."

"Share? Do you call making borders like an oath breaker sharing?"

"I do now," he replied with a sharpness surprising her. "You should know better. You walk among them."

"I walk with a taleweaver. That's different." She wrinkled her nose as she passed one of the tents. Living beings surrounded by the skins of dead animals. The skinless always killed to get what they lacked themselves. That made them less than the animals they preyed on. Skinless parasites, a disease spreading its symptoms everywhere it showed up. Some of that infection had even got a hold of humans like herself. Didn't she carry a bow to kill from a distance, and wear armor made from leather? A disease!

"You say he's a taleweaver," Kharg said. "I still say you've been deceived. As a Mindwalker you're susceptible to the tricks of the oath breakers."

Gring hissed slowly. He was bordering on questioning her honor, but he was also clever enough to always imply she was merely ignorant, and so she had no real reason to challenge him.

A sobbing sound behind her made her stop. Chaijrild. The child was crying. Had she been hurt? Gring bent down to get a better look. Chaijrild cringed but paid little real attention to Gring's examinations. No damage. Gring was confused until she saw that the child was staring intently at the pyre. It made no sense at first, but then Gring remembered the skinless were often skinless inside as well. Some of them couldn't stand the sight of their own dead. They were weaklings. Gring turned and resumed walking. Arthur had come up beside her, and she could see that he was ill at ease as well.

They continued through the camp, a soft wind following them at all times. It was a comfortable day, but for the ever-present stench of unwashed halfmen. The wind brisk and the day clear above them. That, of course, didn't stop the halfmen from behaving as if it was cold, but that, at least, wasn't a fault they could remedy. They were skinless after all.

Their captors led them on through the streets, if those could be called that, until they finally arrived at their destination. It was an open area, almost like one of the squares the halfmen were so fond of. The snow was trampled and yellow stalks of grass could be seen in spots.

Only a few of the halfmen were present, and the reason soon became apparent. Kharg hadn't been alone, and nor had she expected him to be. Warriors usually went in groups of five or six, and his men were standing, evenly spread out, at the edges of the empty space. Their dark leather armor glistened in the sun and all wore heavy swords strapped to their sides.

This had to be where she would know the reason for her capture. It was about time. She walked to stand in the center, Arthur and Chaijrild following in her steps. They looked worried, and tired. Arthur was facing the hunger better than the child, but Gring knew they were both dangerously dehydrated. Thirst could be deceptive in winter.

"I demand water for these two," she said to no one in particular. "The skinless can't last long without drinking, and you should know better after keeping company with them."

"You are not here to demand." Kharg's voice.

"We lay down our weapon at your behest. Honor, at least, demands that you treat them accordingly."

He waved at one of his men who ran away.

Arthur asked her something, but Gring decided it was not the right time to make him nor Chaijrild understand what was said. That whatever he said was unintelligible was a price she had to pay. An unfortunate one. Arthur had fought bravely at her side and laid down his weapon in her honor. He deserved to know what was going on, and her decision put a stain on her. She would have to repay him later.

She faced Kharg again. There was something disturbing about him, something sinister. It was as if he was planning or even scheming, but such were the ways of oath breakers, not humans. The feeling made her uneasy. Gring wondered what a band of warriors were doing together with skinless riders when the usual contact would have been a skirmish between the two.

A faint scent caught her interest. There would be water after all. An improvement. The warrior Kharg had ordered away did indeed return with a pair of buckets which he left at her feet. Gring hoisted one of them and offered it to Arthur. The other she greedily emptied herself. She was done long before Arthur had had his fill, and she watched him almost forcing Chaijrild to drink. Together the two of them barely managed to drink half a bucket, and Gring drained the rest.

Arthur burped with a satisfied grin spreading over his face and wiped it with his sleeve. After that he examined Chaijrild and wiped her face dry as well despite her weak protests. Gring growled approvingly. He obviously knew the ways of winter as well as any halfman could be expected to do.

She turned her interest to Kharg who'd been watching them silently while they drank. He didn't seem especially happy with her forcing him to bring water to his honor bound prisoners. Another strangeness she didn't like.

"Now," Gring began, "could you tell me why we have been dragged outside to stand here as if this was a formal questioning?"

Kharg grinned. "That is closer than you might have preferred. This is not a formal questioning. That will come later."

"What reason is there for me to face such a questioning, and if this is not one, what is it?"

Kharg growled, a dangerous, angry growl telling her he was preparing to attack. "Enough of that insolence!" he roared.

Gring backed away. A threat never scared her, but his behavior did. Kharg reacted, not like a human should, but like a human who'd lost all control.

"I have a right to know why I am standing here," she stubbornly demanded to the silence following his outrage.

"You stand accused of being a renegade."

"On what grounds?" she asked. "How dare you question my honor?"

"I'm not the one questioning you honor. I'm your captor. Others will determine if you have shamed us or not."

"You? You who have shamed us with oath breakers witnessing?"

"Quiet! Take them away!"

"Where are you taking us?"

No one answered.