Talon: The Windwalker Archive (Book 1) (10 page)

“
The measure will begin with five bodies. Line them up,” Fylkin ordered, and a few Vald grabbed five of the Skomm and forced them roughly onto long logs set down by the other Vald. The five Skomm—men and women alike—were laid down one on top of the other. One of the Vald unsheathed a long, gleaming sword nearly a foot thick and raised it to the firelight.

“
Newly forged from the fires of Styrkr himself; his name is Amattugr! And he will cut through ten bodies!”

“
That may be so, but we begin with five, Warhorse,” Fylkin laughed. “Who will challenge Warhorse and the mighty Amattugr
?”

“
My blade, Faela, will cut through eleven bodies!” came the challenge.

The challenging Vald stepped forth and dre
w his great sword. It was longer than Talon—and likely weighed near as much.

“
Gimmalder has answered the challenge; place your bets!” said Fylkin.

Talon glanced
down the line of Skomm and his stomach turned. The dwarven whiskey threatened to come up, and Talon was forced to choke it down.

Are they really going to test their blades on us? This is madness
! he thought.

Many of the Vald came forth to steady the quivering pile by holding tight to the
Skomm’s arms and legs. Gimmalder laid his longsword across the lower back of the man who lay atop the pile; he pulled back Faela with a roar and swung down hard. Talon closed his eyes tightly as the sword tore through their stomachs and hit the wood below. With a triumphant cry, Gimmalder raised his bloody blade to the heavens.

The Vald discarded the dead off to the side
, and six more Skomm were picked from the lineup and placed one atop the other. This time Warhorse brought his blade Amattugr to bear. He tossed his bone necklace around to his back and lifted his sword high. With a grunt he chopped through all six Skomm. Talon had never seen so much blood. It pooled around the logs and hissed where it sprayed the fire. The two bare-chested Vald barbarians smeared the blood on their faces and even licked their fingers, laughing all the while.

Talon knew
he would surely die; only he and six others remained. As he stared at the ground, heavy boots stopped directly in front of him. A big hand the size of his head grabbed his face, and he was forced to look into the gleaming eyes of Fylkin.

“
Look what we have here,” the chiefson grinned. “Put this one on the bottom of the heap!” he yelled and pushed Talon to the ground. Another Vald picked him up and he was placed on his back on the logs. The remaining Skomm villagers were piled on top, end to end so their bellies lined up. Talon thought he might be crushed before the sword fell. One of the women tried to flee, but the laughing Vald grabbed her and knocked her out. The Skomm above him cried while they prayed; he would have joined them had he been able to draw breath beneath the crushing weight.

Talon hoped
he would pass out soon and not feel the biting blade cut through him. From his vantage point at the bottom of the pile, he watched as two timber wolves chewed on the remains of the piled dead. He wanted to turn away from the sight but could not; neither could he close his eyes. He watched as Warhorse brought his sword up to his face and closed his eyes as if in prayer. He spat on the shining steel and took up his stance before the Skomm. Those who had bet on him cheered him on, while his opponents declared the feat impossible. Time slowed as Talon teetered on the brink of consciousness. In his last moments, he thought of his mother, Chief, and Akkeri.

The sword fell.

Talon heard the gruesome crunch as the heavy sword came down in a powerful strike. Warhorse gave a mighty roar, and the weight of the blow was crushing. The blade bit through them one after another, and stopped.

The man directly on top of Talon gave a startled cry
that turned into a gargle of blood. A river of blood washed over Talon, and Fylkin’s big boots came into his waning vision. The chiefson’s eyes found Talon’s as the big barbarian knelt beside the stacked bodies.

“
One yet lives; Gimmalder is the winner!” he bellowed to the cheers of many Vald. He peered again at Talon. “A lucky one you are, Plagueborn. We will see how lucky you are when I come for you on Freista. On the night of death, you will be first.”

Talon watched him walk away
, and his vision went red as the rivers of blood covered his face and he passed out.

“Get these poor souls off of him!” Talon vaguely heard Jahsin screaming; he no longer sounded drunk. The crushing weight of the other villagers stacked on top of him lessened as they were dragged off. Many hands lifted him from the blood-soaked logs and set him down on the ground far from the fire and pools of red. He frantically wiped at his eyes and fought the hands that held him. Through blurred vision he saw Jahsin and Majhree standing over him.

A shrill scream issued
nearby as he fought to break free of Jahsin’s grip. He soon realized the shriek was his own. Jahsin helped him to stand and Talon tore from his one-armed grip. He ran as fast as he could toward the small river snaking through the Skomm village.

“
Talon!” both Jahsin and Akkeri yelled after him.

He tore at his shirt as he ran, desperately trying to be free
of the blood-soaked clothes. He was still screaming but he couldn’t stop; the sound kept him from his thoughts and his visions of mutilated bodies piled high.

F
inally he made it to the stream and fell into the icy waters. He thrashed about and scrubbed and scratched at his skin, desperate to be rid of the blood. A strangled cry escaped him as he scratched at himself. Someone crashed into the water and came to him. Arms wrapped around him and held him tight. He fought the embrace until Akkeri’s soft voice spoke to him.

“
It’s all right, Talon; it’s over. I am here; it’s over,” she promised.

“
It will never be over,” said Talon through his sobs. “I’m getting us off this insane island, Akkeri, if it’s the last thing I do!”

Across the stream he saw the white owl perched atop a hut
, watching him.

In that strange land of giants, I found a child of death—cursed at birth, hated by all, yet his heart is kind, his eyes open. How could I ignore such purity?

—
Azzeal, 4997

Gimmalder’s greatsword
had cut through to the spine of the Skomm man stacked on top of Talon, and when he retracted it angrily, the tip of the blade cut down across Talon’s side. The cut proved shallow and not life-threatening, but Majhree insisted he stay in bed to heal.

Talon found himself in the lowest mood he had ever known. Food was ash in his mouth, and water
carried the copper taste of blood. His life was hopeless. Akkeri and Jahsin tried to lift his spirits but to no avail. Fylkin had promised to kill him during the Freista, which was in only two months. Talon felt trapped. He was stuck on Volnoss, separated from the mainland of Agora by nearly twenty miles of water, and he was stuck in the skin of a weakling, unable to control his own fate, unable to fight the giant Vald.

His mind incessantly
showed him images of the slaughtered Skomm villagers. Twenty had been killed; for some reason, he had not. Surely there were better people among them. Why had he survived? He didn’t deserve it; he had never been good for anyone around him. His mother died because of him, and his father was robbed of a Vald son.

Kreal
Windwalker was well-liked by the tribe and would have been elected chief—if elections occurred. In Volnoss a chief could only be made through victory. Should the tribe grow to dislike a chief, they could select a warrior to challenge him—a challenger with a son of age, a Vald son. Talon’s amma had told him that his father had hoped he would be such a son, but he was not; he was a runt, a Throwback—he was Skomm.

Even
his amma’s life had been ruined because of him. Before his birth, she had lived like a chief’s wife, and her business had flourished. She still got by well, but her name had been tarnished by Talon’s existence. He felt he was a jinx to Jahsin and Akkeri as well, and would only lead them to tragedy. Even Chief had not been impervious to the curse of Talon Windwalker.

He was no good for anyone.

Majhree came in with lunch and set it on the small table. Once again she had half a dozen incense sticks burning and as many candles. She said—as always—they were to ward off the evil spirits.

“
I’m not dying,” he said.

“
Don’t matter if you dyin’ or not; spirits is spirits, them’s to be warded against.”

Talon knew as much from his
amma. But in all the weeks he had known Majhree, he had never seen her use so many warding candles.

“
Do you think the spirits are after me? Am I…cursed?” he asked.

Majhree stopped in what she was doing and half turned toward him. The curve of her hunched ba
ck kept her face from view; Talon thought her to be pondering.

“
You done survived a massacre, Talon. You grew to a strong young man after bein’ born so early. There’s somethin’ in your stars, son—somethin’ up’n scares the spirits out of me, and excites me at the same time. Nah, I ain’t thinkin’ the spirits is after you, but I think they’s watchin’ you, and the gods is too.”

Talon thought
on her words for a time. Spirits and gods watching him, something in his stars? She sounded like his amma. He had never put much stock in the gods. What did the barbarian gods care for a Throwback, anyway? He had prayed to Styrkr for strength and power as a little boy, wanting so badly to grow tall enough to make the measure and be accepted by his father. The god of strength never answered. The gods remained silent to Talon Windwalker, and he to them.

Majhree
unwrapped Talon’s waist and checked on the stitches. She replaced the two bones she had placed on his abdomen with small skulls of what might have been cats.

“
I have to get Akkeri off this island,” said Talon, and Majhree froze in what she was doing.

“
Don’t be a fool, boy; ain’t no Skomm ever got off this Island. Where’n would they go anyway? You ain’t knowin’ what the world like out there.”

Talon laughed at the irony.

“I know what it is like here; could it be any worse?”

“
That kind’a talk make a person crazy, Talon. You start dreamin’ ’bout impossible things, you’ll die brokenhearted long before the Vald kill you. Anybody with two good ears best listen.”

“
Look at you,” he countered. “Did you ever think you would have a place in this world, be of any worth? Now you are one of the most important people in the Skomm village.”

“
Ain’t fingers or toes needed to count my worth,” said Majhree humbly.

“
Neinn
, I see your worth.”

She said nothing,
keeping her head down as she applied a sticky, green salve to his stitches.

“
You speak of my stars; help me, Majhree. If you believe the Krellr of death follows me, I will leave you alone. But I have to try, or else leave Jahsin and Akkeri for their own sake, and I cannot do that. You said it yourself: Akkeri will be sold to the slavers for some stinking brothel in Agora. Even with the cut on her face, she will not be spared.”

Majhree
let out a heavy sigh as if she had stopped breathing while he spoke. Candlelight shone in her shimmering tears and she nodded to herself.

“
I’ll do what I can.”

“
Thank you, Majhree.”

Talon went back to work in the mines after two days with Majhree. Vaka Groegon had been furious with his absence and went personally to the house of healing to demand he be flogged. Majhree had convinced him to turn his head with a steep bribe of Bull Juice, saying it would give him the endurance of a god. When she mentioned how the pleasure ladies of Vaka Kastali would flock to him, he was sold. Vaka Groegon agreed to two days for two vials.

Talon caught Groegon’s
eye while entering the mines, and the Vaka’s glare promised hell. Sure enough he was met with a whip crack to the shoulder and given one of the worst jobs, the pick axe. His clothes offered little protection, and when the pick struck, he was battered by biting flecks of stone. Soon he learned how to set his mark and strike blind, lest he lose an eye to the constant flying rock.

The day wore on and Talon stopped near
noon to drink from his waterskin. As he raised it to his parched lips, the end of a whip slapped the water skin from his hands.

“
Dropped something,” Vaka Groegon said from his saddle.

“
Yes, Vaka Groegon,” Talon replied placidly and bent to retrieve it, though he knew what was coming. He reached for the flask and the whip hit his back, jolting him upright with a groan. He bit his lip against the pain, determined that Vaka Groegon would never here his cry of pain again. He had grabbed the waterskin tightly in expectation of the whip, intending not to reach for it twice.

“
Hell of a display, them Vald swords, eh?” said Groegon.

“
Yes, Vaka Groegon.”

“
Wish I could have been there. They say the blood ran like a river.”

Talon didn’
t reply. He put his waterskin over his shoulder and took up the pick axe, determined to get back to work.

“
I’m talking to you, Plagueborn!”

Talon stopped and set the head of the axe on the ground. He
set his eyes on the horse’s hooves and waited.

“
They say only one lucky Skomm survived the test of blades. They right it was you?”

“
Yes, Vaka Groegon.”

The man let out a long, hearty laugh and bent back in his saddle with a hoot. Talon
became tempted to take up the pick axe and drive it into the Vaka’s chest.

“
Feikinstafir! The gods like you, don’t they, Plagueborn?”

“
Yes, Vaka Groegon.”

The overseer leapt from his saddle and was in Talon’s face in a heartbeat.

“Yes, Vaka Groegon, yes, Vaka Groegon. You say that one more time and I’ll shove the pick axe up your arse!”

Spittle sprayed on Talon’s face
, and it was all he could do not to say it again; instead, he bit back his anger and breathed.

“
As you wish, Vaka Groegon.”

“
You think you’re hot dragon shyte, don’t you, Plagueborn?”

“
No, Vaka Groegon,” said Talon.

“
Endrbaga!” Groegon screamed and backhanded him. He took the blow on his feet and straightened again.

“
I guess you is special, ain’t you, boy? Not every day a strong Vald woman dies givin’ birth to a useless runt. How’s it feel knowin’ your mother couldn’t live with the shame of birthing such a filthy Draugr?”

Talon shook with rage and hot tears pooled in h
is eyes, blurring his vision; he refused to let them fall.

“
You want to take that axe to my head, don’t you, boy?”

“
No, Vaka Groegon.”

“
Go ahead. Lift it up, be a feikin man for once in your life. Take it up, take a swing at me. Go ahead. You know you want to.”

Talon resisted the urge to bash his head in. He thought of leaving
Volnoss with Akkeri and Jahsin, and if possible, Chief as well. He buried his anger deep inside.

“
May I return to work, Vaka Groegon?”

The Vaka stared at him
, furious that he could not make him snap. He leaned in close so his lips nearly touched Talon’s ear.

“
I heard Chiefson Fylkin has big plans for you come Freista. He’ll win the Timber Wolf games, you know; he’ll hunt you and that little red-haired whore down.”

Talon’s head jerked at the mention, and Vaka Groegon’s satisfied groan bathed his ear in hot
, rank breath.

“
Oh yes, he has big plans for her, and that one-armed moron, too. He’s going to beat you near to death, then flay your skin and feed it to the wolves. Make you watch him take the red-haired girl again…and again…and again. When she’s been used up like an old
Kerling
, he is gonna kill her right in front of you.”

Talon had not been able to stop the tears from fallin
g, but he didn’t wipe them away. He knew they had made two long streaks through the dirt on his face. Vaka Groegon sneered at Talon in his silent victory and mounted his horse once again.

“
Back to work, Plagueborn. We’ll make some use of your sorry arse before Freista!”

Angry tears fell all the way home. He was so mad at Vaka Groegon that he thought he might explode. The images he had forced before Talon’s mind had nearly driven him mad with rage. Never had he wanted the strength of a Vald so badly, so he might make right everything wrong with Volnoss.

The white owl
appeared once more. As the sun slowly set and twilight descended upon the world, he found the owl in the same tree as before. Talon stopped to watch the majestic bird, wishing he too could fly away.

Talon returned to the hut that night in no mood to talk, and Jahsin gave him his space.

“How you doing, Tal?” was as far as he pressed, and Talon was grateful.

Akkeri came to the hut
, and together they set out to picking herbs, roots, and leaves. They worked in silence most of the night under the light of the moon. She gave him space as well, knowing the horrors he had seen. When their eyes met, she offered him a loving smile rather than a kind, pitying one, which he was grateful for.

“
We have to get out of here,” he sighed as they collected midnight mushrooms.

“
How?”

Talon had half expected her to argue.

“I don’t know; we sure can’t fly,” he said and realized he hadn’t really thought much about how, busy as he was obsessing over the why.

“
We need to cross the Strait of Shierdon, else take a boat east or west to Agora,” said Akkeri.

“
Do a lot of boats venture through the Strait?” he asked, excited by her being open to the discussion.

“
I don’t know, but I guess if they ever do, it is when the fishing is good.” She put another mushroom in her basket and regarded him with a question in her eyes.

“
What?” Talon asked.

“
I think you’re right, and I would love nothing more than to leave. But how are we going to get a boat? And not be stopped?”

“
I’m not sure,” he admitted with a slump. Just as quickly, he perked back up. “What if we sneak on a trading ship? Somehow get work at the docks. Sneak on while we are loading it with the others.”