Chronicles of Kin Roland 1: Enemy of Man (18 page)

“Cla-ven-da. Now.”

Kin picked up his sword, bracing himself for the Reaper charge. He cursed, realizing he instinctively put both hands on the hilt, causing Droon to see the danger. He slashed up with all his strength, but the grip of his left hand was weak. Droon batted the sword down and leapt past him, tumbling Kin like a child.

Kin lunged with his twitching left hand and grabbed the Reaper’s tail. It cut his palm, but he held on as he was dragged several steps. Pulling his feet in front of his body and digging his heels in, he grunted, cursed, and heaved on the tail. He wante
d to swing the sword, but couldn’t get in position.

Droon whirled and struck
with a claw. Kin pulled closer to take the force of the strike from Droon’s forearm instead of from the claws. The impact of the arm felt like a metal club.

Kin swung the sword. Droon deflected it.

Droon chased him as he scrambled away. Kin couldn’t move fast enough. He was about to die, but at least Clavender and Rickson were out of sight. Droon retracted his claws and swatted Kin several times, playing Reaper games.

Terror blossomed in Kin’s gut. He tried to ignore
it.

He slashed and moved, avoiding a tackle. His ground fighting skill was exceptional, but Reapers were far stronger than humans. This wasn’t the time or place to test his skill on the ground. He dodged sideways and retreated. Droon charged. Kin met his advance, but rolled out of the way.

Kin thrust the sword and pulled it back.

That should’ve been a killing blow
.

The Clinger shifted around the base of Droon’s skull, covering the exposed area. It was like fighting two adversaries. That was when he realized there wasn’t one Clinger protecting Droon, but three or four.
The organic layers seemed indestructible.

Kin hesitated too long as he pondered the Clinger armor. Droon seized him by the throat with both hands. Immediately, Droon pushed him down and placed both feet on Kin’s stomach, extending his claws as he began to rake at Kin’s guts. Kin thrust
with his hips and twisted his body, momentarily exposing his back to his attacker, even as they were face to face. He pushed the ground with his legs, twisted his body, hips, and thrashed desperately. The Reaper was too heavy and strong.

Kin grabbed the Reaper’s hands with his left hand, dropped the sword and drew his pistol. He reached over the Reaper’s arms and jammed
the muzzle of the gun in the gaping mouth. Droon jumped back as Kin began to pull the trigger.

It was no good. The bullets grazed the side of Droon’s face. No time to reload. He holstered the gun and scooped up his sword, wincing in pain at the effort, running into the predawn gloom. Droon hesitated, looked toward where Clavender and Rickson h
ad fled, then chased after Kin.

He desperately wished he had
an accomplice now. Bear could have ambushed the Reaper as he pursued Kin. But Bear was dead. He was on the floor of Long Canyon, the top half of his body consumed by Clingers and the bottom half pressed against the ground. That was how Clingers left their victims, half eaten because they were too mindless to roll the prey over.

Kin stopped to catc
h his breath. One moment Droon was on him, the next he pulled back to launch a new attack.

Kin understood Reaper tactics and had taught his troopers to adapt quickly, but this was too much.
Fatigue, injury, and Reaper venom made his head swim. Long forgotten memories whispered in his mind. He neared the top of the hill only to meet Droon’s surprise attack.

The Reaper never made a sound as he crested the hill and jumped forward, seizing Kin again by the throat. This time he didn’t attempt to disembowel with the claws on his feet, but thrust one finger at Kin’s heart. Kin twisted and took the claw in his sho
ulder. The pain went through like a flaming knife, pinning him to the ground.

“Kin-rol-an-da. Last man on the planet. Murderer,” Droon said. “Mine.”

Kin screamed. Droon squeezed his throat with one hand. The terrible pressure increased until he couldn’t make a sound.

“
We spared Kin-rol-an-da. Kin-rol-an-da betrayed us. Droon found Kin-rol-an-da. Droon ends the Long Hunt.” He twisted his finger and leaned his weight down, crushing Kin’s throat and his chest at the same time.

Kin c
ouldn’t fight anymore. He barely kept his eyes open. Blood seeped around the claw.

This is death.

Droon babbled non-human words, curses and exaltations, accusations and promises of revenge.

Every second seemed like a year.

Kin laughed maniacally, quietly at first, but louder and louder as rage consumed him. Choking, gasping, and grunting, he suffered an epiphany and felt more than saw what happened next.

His blood hardened and twitched as it touched Droon’s claw.

Reaper blood. My blood.

Kin fumbled at
one of the Clingers and pulled. Droon flinched. Kin yanked the Clinger over Droon’s face. A horrible scream split the night.

Droon rolled across the ground clawing
, ripping, and tearing until the Clinger lost suction. He mauled the creature, slammed it on the ground, and jumped on it with both feet.

Without thinking, Kin sheathed his sword and stuck his thumb as deep as it would go in the wound to stop the bleeding. He staggered aw
ay from the nightmarish battle.

W
hen he looked back, he saw at least twenty Clingers crawling over the top of the hill. Kin wanted to run but was paralyzed by the appearance of the evil parasites.

He shook his head, breaking free of
his surprise, and left the Reaper to fight his new enemies.

When he had gone a hundred
meters, he packed his wound with gauze and tied his last bandage over the dressing to hold it in place. He moved and stopped several times as he did this, looking back more often than he looked ahead, waiting for Droon’s victorious howl.

KIN awoke and panicked. He couldn’t move or remember where he was.

I was on my way to Crater Town
.

He controlled his ragged brea
thing and realized he was covered in rocky soil with only his face exposed. He chastised himself, because an FSPAA unit could be buried completely without danger, allowing the surveillance sensors to be his eyes above ground. And then he remembered he wasn’t wearing armor. He had planted himself in the earth like a Reaper trying to heal.

I’m burning
.

The sensation unnerved him—
blood rushing, strength returning. In his hand was a cord. He twisted and pulled until the cord opened the ground like a zipper. He sat up and rolled out of his grave. Dizziness and nausea plagued him for several moments. Pain returned as his heart rate slowed to normal. Hunger and thirst tortured him. He wanted to die.

A good trooper checks his gear
.

Kin didn’t have much left. He sat cataloguing his injuries until he had the courage to stand. For a man who should have died ten times, he was in decent shape, though he still wanted to cr
awl back into the ground.

He considered the safest route, but chose the most direct instead—a river that cut through the mountain pass. A ridge followed the terrain on his right. He looked up before entering a natural place for an ambush. Droon probably wasn’t up there, but he co
uldn’t rule out a Fleet patrol.

He followed the river, his progress slowed by the uneven shore. After a half mile, he bundled his clothes and weapons together, held them over his head, and started to cross to the other side. From what he could see, there would be more room to walk without tripping over loose rocks and driftwood.

Halfway across, he learned how deep the water was. He was up to his neck when he stepped in a hole and went under. He held the bundle high and held his breath, but it was no good. The current tumbled him as he pulled the bundle to his chest, clinging to it tightly. He snorted to keep water out of his nose, but wound up sucking in a freezing deluge with his next breath. A dislodged tree stump struck him in the face. He gasped and gagged as water rushed in.

Roots entang
led him. Before he knew it, he flipped upside down, fighting panic.

The water is not trying to kill you, it is only flowing
.

Kin relaxed and ignored the pain in his chest, the freezing cold soaking into his limbs despite the hard labor of swimming for his life. The bundle came apart. He grabbed at the pieces, wanting to curse as most of his food disappeared.

A powerful blow along the side of his head stunned him. For a moment, he lazily wondered what it was, then his face hit another rock. He floated for a time without fighting the current. Then, slowly, he began kicking his feet and pulling with one arm until he crawled onto the bank to lie on his back. He was not surprised to realize he was on the wrong side again.

He gathered his clothing and weapons. His pistol and sword had remained in the holster and scabbard of his belt, which had been buckled tightly around his clothing. He dressed and forded the river again. There was no use trying to stay dry, and the crossing was easier. To his chagrin, this part of the river was not as deep, barely reaching his waist. The current still moved him downstream, but he made progress. He was laughing at himself without much humor when he saw a figure running along the ridge above him.

He splashed onto the bank and moved quickly. The figure ran, pacing him with fluid strides. Kin didn’t think it was Droon, but it definitely wasn’t a trooper or Bear, who was the only man he would expect to find in this part of the wilderness. Bear was dead. Clingers devoured him. Kin dared not stop and he couldn’t stare at the stranger without tripping. This side of the stream was smoother than the other, but was by no means civilized.

He stopped and looked again. The shadow could be Droon. Something was on its back—wings. Without warning, Kin sprinted down an abrupt slope where the stream turned into rapids.

The figure matched and then bested Kin's speed, moving faster than any man Kin had ever known. As the ridge narrowed, the figure leaped, wings spreading so wide that Kin was momentarily stunned. The man, who must be from the Ror-Rea, glided over the water and turned to land in Kin's path.

“You are not a very good swimmer,” the winged man said, laughing. “I am Sibil Dax and must ad
mit that I cannot swim at all.”

He towered over Kin, long legs spread in a wide stance.
His back and torso differed in symmetry and design from a human, or even a Reaper. Cords of muscle ran into the base of his wings. Travel grime stained the fine, white fur covering his body. He wore only an elaborate kilt of woven material.

The feature that drew Kin's attention, however, was the stain under his eyes. At first, it seemed the man had been crying blood, but on closer inspection this seemed to be the natural color of the facial fur and long whiskers that drooped from the sides of his face. His belt supported a sword on one hip and what looked like a narrow shield on the other.

The man was very different from Clavender, except for the wings.

“How did you get here?” Kin asked. He was not certain where the Ror-Rea was, but understood it must be far away, deep within the portion of Crashdown that seemed uninhabitable and dangerous. Clavender kept her people away for years
. He worried something had happened to her since they separated, allowing the protective barrier to fall.

“I came with much difficulty,” Dax said, smiling
. The expression surprised Kin.

Kin hadn’t missed the similarities
between Clavender's name and Dax’s. He didn’t look old enough to be Clavender's father, but Kin now knew she was ageless.

“Can you help me?” K
in asked, shaking with fatigue.

“What sort of help? Do you need dry clothing, or do you need help killing the Clingers and the beast
they have captured?” For a man who had obviously traveled a long and dangerous road, his manner was full of humor.

“I need help saving your daughter,” Kin said.

Dax moved closer, until he was face to face, bending forward menacingly. His wondrously strange smile transformed into a murderous scowl. “Why should I save her, when she will not open the Ror-Rea and the sky lights? My people come. My people die to cross the Storm Lands and reach the wormhole because she protects the Mazz.”

Kin struggled to understand the heavily accented words. His body trembled from hypothermia. He lifted his head and stared at Dax. “Fine. Let the Reaper eat her.”

Dax drew back abruptly. “Tell me.”

Kin thought he knew what Dax was asking, though the man didn’t have all the words to
clarify the request. “A beast my people call a Reaper has bonded with Clingers. He kidnapped Clavender. I rescued her and the Reaper wants her back.”

“Tell me of th
e Reaper,” Dax said.

Kin described Droon. Dax listened and motioned with his hand for more. Kin undressed and began to sq
ueeze water from his shirt as he explained. Dax demanded details, interrupting frequently and staring away from time to time as though he wasn’t listening. Kin started a fire and huddled near it. He kept his pistol, sword, and axe close.

“You speak of a warlock. The
Mazz have warlock slaves as well as Clingers. And many other creatures,” Dax said. “He pointed his finger into the night. “Clavender is that way?”

Kin nodded. Dax turned and ran. When he reached maximum speed, he leapt into the air and soared a considerable distance. Kin watched him repeat the maneuver, but this time he rose into the air.

Kin checked his shirt and his pants, sat near the fire, and shivered. He tended his wounds, absently wondering at the rate of healing. He was in bad shape, but should have been worse.

Almost like a Reaper
.

He laughed crazily. Then he wept.

The night grew deep and he remembered the sight of Dax and his people trying to fly to the wormhole. Kin had encountered many dangerous warriors, but Dax left an impression. He didn’t fear the man, but thought he might if they became enemies. And that was a distinct possibility, since he sent Dax in the wrong direction. He tried to decide why as he pulled on damp clothing and worked the slide of his pistol. Dax's paternal instincts seemed suspect to Kin. The man had come through hell, but that didn’t make him a saint.