The Taleweaver
Renegade

Gring sniffed in the air.

"Something wrong?" Arthur asked.

Gring didn't answer, and it wasn't until he identified the lack of tingling around his temples he remembered that she needed to cast her magic to understand him. He rubbed his temples to make her do so, but she just kept on looking ahead. Something had caught her attention. Behind him he heard a horse coming up. Chaijrild. Her continuous presence was becoming unnerving, and he pretended interest in whatever Gring was watching. She had to be watching something, or by the look of her face, smelling something.

"What is it?" he asked. Again there was no answer.

He squinted to see what she had already noticed, and not for the first time he regretted not having asked Harbend to lend him the binoculars. Without them Arthur only saw an endless blanket of white stretching out on all sides of him with only the distant, bluish mountains to their southwest breaking the monotony. In theory anything should stand out as dark blots against the snow, but irregularities made it difficult to see anything as small as a human from far away.

There was nothing more for him to do but wait until Gring agreed to tell him whatever she had sensed. In the meanwhile he might as well lecture Chaijrild about the dangers of riding alone. He retraced his steps and faced her.

"Damn you idiot!" He searched for the right words. "This place... too dangerous for... be alone." Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

"I know how to... a horse," she answered sullenly.

"If horse falls it... be hours before you found, if ever."

"Hours?"

He stared at her. Ah, hell. "Measurement, Terran standard unit time." He had to stop mixing De Vhatic and English. Well, he hoped the message had come through anyway.

Gring was still staring out into the whiteness, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't see what she saw. Then he felt the tingling telling him Gring intended to speak.

"Problems. Big problems."

"What do you see?"

"Riders. I smell them. Hundreds of riders coming."

Something cold crawled up Arthur's spine. "Dangerous?" he asked.

"Very. I can smell their tension. They will attack soon."

The caravan would have no head warning. "Hell, we need to warn them!" Arthur shot out.

"No. We hide. We can do nothing. The wagons are too far away."

Arthur knew her to be right, but he hated being helpless when something bad was going to happen.

"Are you sure there isn't anything we can do?" he asked in desperation.

"I am certain. We can do nothing appropriate. I only know Captain Laiden well enough to send him a warning, but he's from Keen so there is much dishonor in forcing the gift on him."

Arthur looked at her in surprise. What did honor have to do with their companions being in danger? Beside him Chaijrild stood silently watching Gring. The girl had paled as Gring told what was about to happen.

"They're in danger. You must warn them!"

"No. Captain Laiden would never forgive me, and he's displayed more honor than I'd expect from a halfman. He'd hate you and me both if I did."

Arthur gulped down an angry retort as he reluctantly accepted what Gring was saying. He turned to Chaijrild. "I'm sorry, but you know Gring would never lie to us."

"I would, but not about this. That would be dishonorable," Gring countered his statement deadpan.

Arthur glared at her, and then he went to his horse, unstrapped a small shovel and started digging in the snow. Chaijrild followed his example. He guessed she wanted to have something to do, and they worked in silence. The snow was easy to dig into, and he was certain they would soon have a hole big enough to cover them all. Then a thought struck him.

"Gring, how do we hide the horses?"

"We do not. Continue digging. Chaijrild will help me with the horses."

Arthur didn't answer, but did as told. From the corner of his eye he could see Chaijrild leave him to join Gring. He concentrated on the job at hand, and within minutes he was warm enough to discard his armored coat. He looked around just in time to see Gring sending their horses back to the caravan.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he murmured as the horses vanished.

"The only way," Gring answered. "I can't promise it'll be enough."

"What do you mean?" Chaijrild demanded.

"The horsemen. They live here. They can still find us even if we hide. Let us hope they don't. Now, dig!"

Arthur had to laugh despite their situation. Practical as always. Chaijrild gave him a dark look and he swallowed the last of his mirth and continued to expand the small cave he'd created. If Gring was correct it would have to be big enough for all three of them very soon.

"Quick now! I smell riders close."

They dove into the hole and Arthur covered it from the inside with the coat he'd put aside earlier. If the riders came at them from this side they were bound to notice either the dark leather or the traces leading here, and he understood Gring's misgivings.

They were silent. No one had to be told, and they waited. The entire world became a cramped cave of half day, half darkness. They waited until Arthur was stiff and cold, and he dared giving Gring a questioning glance, but she made it clear with only a look that they couldn't move yet. So close to each other each breath was a scream, every movement a thundering avalanche giving away their position to anyone stalking them on the outside. No real darkness and yet blindness. A brittle cave of snow turned prison and fear clawed itself into his nostrils and he was unable to discern if it was for real or just the smell of damp clothes.

Suddenly Chaijrild started. "No more!" she yelled and threw aside the coat before bolting.

"Damn!" Arthur swore and threw himself after her, but Gring held him back.

"It's safe," Chaijrild called from the outside, and he was no longer caught in the iron grip of the Khraga. He slowly crawled outside and had to blink in the bright sunlight. Gring followed shortly after.

"Look, nothing." Chaijrild giggled.

"You should not look ahead of us, but behind us," Gring stated calmly.

"But there's only the caravan behind us," Chaijrild protested.

"Not any longer. Look!"

Arthur squinted in the direction they'd come from. Yes, there were riders, but he couldn't see if they were the patrol to replace the vanguard or others.

"Are you sure they're not ours?" he finally asked.

"I'm certain. They ride on a line, all horses breaking snow. Our escort always rides in a column. Stupid riders. They tire their horses. Even you know better."

As the riders neared Arthur's hope slowly evaporated. It was soon evident they were not part of their escort, and with a growing lump of coldness in his stomach he started to grab for his gun. The riders came with bows drawn.

"What do we do now?"

"We fight, and then we die," Gring answered.

Arthur fell to his knees and spread out on the snow, right hand in his left palm, gun as steady as it could be, and prepared for the worst.

Bloody thing still can't hit anything at a distance. Well, better than trying to club them with my mace, I guess.

"Stand you coward!" Gring hissed.

Arthur didn't answer at first. Death had seemed a welcome release for close to a year, and he'd become so used to the idea that even now when he found a new value in life the thought still failed to scare him. Instead he felt a peculiar calm mixed with gratitude that he'd awakened to enjoy living again.

"Stand I said!" Gring repeated.

Ah, she thinks I'm hiding. "Where is the honor in dying without leaving an impression. I intend to take as many of them with me as possible."

"How? Lying like a scared animal on the ground?"

"If I don't try to teach you how to fight with your weapons I expect you to leave me to handle my own. Be certain that when this is over I'll have slain more than you." Arthur hoped his boast would be enough for Gring to let him be.

She grunted and drew her own bow. With something that could have been respect she whispered as she went to her knees, "You are right. You have shamed me."

Arthur shook his head in disbelief. "Chaijrild, you are weaponless. Take cover!" The explanation was mostly for Gring's benefit. No need to have her angry over a perceived cowardliness.

To his relief he saw the girl crawling to the other side of their snow mound. She'd present a smaller target from there. He turned his attention to the riders ahead of them. Just out of bow shot they halted and one of them called out.

"Khraga, we want you. You walk with us. The other two die."

"Skinless ones, I dare you to take me alive!"

A moment's silence. "You don't have a chance. Give up!"

Gring answered with an arrow. Her hulking frame allowed her to use a far heavier bow than the riders and one of them fell to the ground.

"Don't make this more difficult!" The voice held anger now.

She loosed another arrow, and this time she hit a horse. They charged.

She sent yet one more arrow into the air before the charging bowmen were within range for his gun. He fired four shots in rapid succession felling two men. The sharp sounds sent them reeling. Probably as much as seeing two of their own falling to the ground with holes the size of their heads.

Momentum, a word he'd been taught long ago. He rose to his feet and strode toward the horses pulling the trigger as if he was training on a firing range. High explosive rounds tore through four more riders before they fled screaming. Chaijrild wailed. Gring hadn't lost the opportunity brought by the aborted charge, and the retreating horsemen lost two of their own to her arrows.

"Maybe we don't die today," she growled.

Arthur checked his weapon. "Don't count on it. I only have eight rounds left. That'll be enough for four or five of them, no more. The gun isn't very accurate."

"Rounds? As in arrows?"

He nodded.

"Then we fight well and..., what?"

Arthur followed her look. "What do you see?"

"Human!"

Arthur was about to ask why this was suddenly so important when he remembered how her magic worked. He stared ahead of him until he saw the frame of a Khraga trampling its way closer to the riders. It was huge. The Khraga came up beside a rider and spoke with him. Rider on horseback and standing Khraga speaking face to face and the former looking up. They seemed to come to some kind of agreement and after a while the giant stepped closer.

"That is a true man, walking so close to death without a weapon," Gring said, and there was pride in her voice.

He favored her a surprised stare but kept his silence. I'd better just wait and see what happens.

The giant Khraga came a little bit closer before checking his steps.

"I am Kharg dhara Braugdi. You fight well," he boomed.

"I am Gring ghara Khat. You are brave. The halfman with me fights with honor."

"I am told there are two halfmen with you. Only one fights."

"One is a weaponless child. She does not know the way."

"I can agree to kill only her."

"That we cannot accept."

"Hell no," Arthur added. "Wait, I have an idea." He walked closer to the giant. "How do you want to die today?" he yelled.

"What do I care about how many of these," Kharg gestured to the riders, "die. You cannot win this fight."

"Win? Do you really believe I'm concerned with winning? Why should I care about wasting my life on the sorry excuse for soldiers you've scraped up in a smelly dung heap when you present such a marvelous prize yourself?"

"Foolish oath breaker! Do you believe you can harm me?"

Arthur grinned. The Khraga had taken the bait. "Look at the bodies and answer your own question. I promise I'll bring such destruction to your body your riders will have to dig five different graves to bury it in."

Kharg turned over a corpse to have a look at it. It didn't take long.

"Gring ghara Khat, if you give up your weapons you will all live."

What a cold hearted bastard! As if he didn't even see those wounds. "Can we trust him?" Arthur asked and was rewarded with a furious glare from Gring.

"Your ignorance is what keeps you alive, halfman! That and your being a taleweaver. Kharg is human. Kharg has said we will live."

"I have shamed myself." Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to trust the stranger, but he had to trust Gring, and using one of her expressions to make his own error known was one way to start.

She didn't respond but turned to Kharg instead.

"I will come as you demand, and so will the girl. The halfman, Arthur, will come by his own consent."

"Why? He should come as I demand." There was consternation in the voice.

"He's a taleweaver."

"I see no taleweaver. I only see a battle mage who fought well."

"I say he's a taleweaver."

"Still he will come as I demand. I say he has deceived you into believing him. You would not dishonor yourself willingly."

Gring hissed between her tusks. "I saw him Weave in the Roadhouse, and later. There is no deception."

"The Roadhouse belongs to the oath breakers. Who knows what dishonorable tricks they will play on us humans?"

Arthur could see that Gring was raging by now. "That is shameful! The Weave is inviolate. Not even oath breakers would stoop as low as you suggest."

Kharg took a step forward. "Enough! You have said you will come, and so you will!"

"So I have, and so we will, but know that you have brought shame upon your family as well as mine this day."

Gring unstrung her bow, and following her example Arthur shut down the primer on his gun before holstering it. He didn't understand all that had passed, only that Gring had attempted to use his status as a taleweaver to give him some kind of advantage, but of what kind he couldn't even guess. He walked back and picked up his coat. Standing still was colder than he'd suspected.

They'd be disarmed, that much was certain. He looked down on his wrist.

They're bloody not going to get my notepad! He tried to hide it in his pocket, but it was too large, made as it was to fit around his arm. Now what? Maybe, yes, it fits in my holster. He pocketed his gun instead.

"What happens now?" he asked when he returned.

"We go with them, but as prisoners," she answered.

Well, that much he could have guessed himself. There had to be a meaning to her words, but he was unable to grasp what. He was still standing there when the horsemen took his mace, bound his hands and tied him to a horse. For a short while he was afraid they'd all be forced to run behind the horses, but then he was ordered to mount it.

Chaijrild screamed, but when it was clear they wouldn't be hurt immediately she turned quiet and only gave him a frightened look as she was forced onto a horse. He barely dared to return it with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. The glance he shot at Kharg's back was far darker.

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 womans 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.

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