Chapter 1
Looking around the Artisan's Ward, the hunter smiled a bit. He liked this part of Cosarali, despite the high walls and narrow streets. While the urge to find open places still took him, this place, with all the craftsmen showing their goods, and those who supplied them laying out small places on the wider ways appealed to him in a strange way. The calls of sellers, noise of tools being used, and aromas of strange and familiar foods took his mind to the clan gatherings amid the Grass. Pleasant times, before the dark mage passed those lands, killing many, including his friends and relatives.
Times before Chanti's capture and disappearance.
That thought darkened his mood. His lover and pledged wife was missing still. The trail led to here, and his failure to even lay the ball of Galen's mace to that foul magician still stung, despite the two seasons of snows passed now. His mentor in the way of hunting men, something far different from hunting beasts, still spoke of learning patience. But that was something Tagrun struggled with. Beasts rose up when hungry, this mage, who fed on the lives of others, would rise from hunger, he felt. Just not soon enough for the hunter to stop another massacre of children.
Memories of the sandcasting the shala gave him that last time amid his own folk in the Grass stung. The hunt for the killer taking more seasons of snows than the shalu, who counted his life on sticks not fingers and hands, bothered him. Even the Tagrun he was named for took less time to find. And it had preyed upon the clan for two hands of snows, before taking one close to him, driving him to hunt it down during one such season.
Near the tea house, a drink he found himself liking more of late, a man stood amid the sea of kimonos and silk clothes, clad in leathers more ornate than the jerkin and pants he wore. Deep red cowhide jerkin and pants, black dyed leather boots, gloves, and belt from the one horned beasts known as Urthani by his folk. A slight breeze tossed long strands of unbound brown hair, just touched with hints of grey, across the man's face, forcing the soft jade eyes to blink as his hand forced the hair out of the way.
"The bat creatures stopped raiding two moons ago. Almost thought you were dead." The older man grinned at him.
"Some of the farmers and fishers approached me, as did the Daimyo's keeper where I found the beasts and their master." Tagrun shrugged. "My hunt impressed them, so they asked for help with another beast."
Codi Duhn laughed. "For a boy who came to me for learning to hunt men, you seem to still hunt more creatures."
"Beasts still rise up, and coin for hunting men is few and far between." Tagrun grinned. "Besides, there was two beasts. You might like the gift I bring my teacher."
A deeper voice intruded. "Hunting is forbidden to gaijin. Now you are mine to slay."
Turning, Tagrun found himself facing his personal nemesis in the town, Noro Ishi, chief of the guard. A man who held that only those of this land were worthy of living, all others deserved to die upon his blade.
"As said, I had permission from the shugo there, who speaks for your master." Tagrun said, his voice flat.
"We shall see. The Daimyo shall decide." Noro grinned, crooked yellow teeth showing as he did. "But my word counts before him, not yours."
A soft whisper of silk on cotton drapes spoke of someone exiting the teahouse. "My word, though, might bear more weight." A woman's hand held out two small pouches. "And it was not the Daimyo's shugo this hunter contracted with, Ishi."
Silence spread around them, as many froze in place with fear, others moved away quickly to avoid the attention of this woman. Fighting to keep his face from showing his relief and small joy at shaming the samurai again, Tagrun accepted the pouches. "The beasts threatened too much to leave hunting them. Especially that one in the bay."
"The (empress-dowager) appreciated greatly that pelt. Sea-wolf of silver being so rare." The woman smiled. "You have her gratitude for such a fine gift, and that of I as well."
"Yoritoko-sama." Ishi growled, angered at being over-ruled again. "This gaijin is beneath such a gift."
"This gaijin was able to achieve what you and your guards feared to do." She said, turning on him swiftly. "You will acknowledge that, at least, or bring shame upon the Noro family."
With that one word, she forced those around her to gasp. To threaten a member of Ishi's rank with some taint to a family's honor was tantamount to calling him out for a duel. Few doubted the outcome of that fight, for Yoritoko was said to be the best blade in the Emperor's service. The hunter found the taste of the small victory over the samurai now souring in his mouth. He'd hoped the task to bring an end to this disagreement, but being publicly humiliated like this left him no doubt the man's grudge against him to be stoked higher.
Tension spread slowly across Noro's face, then fled into nothingness, as he bowed to the great lady. "The envoy of the Emperor shall be obeyed. Unless her words prove false, or my lord objects."
This was not a slight to Yoritoko. The samurai was trying to save face in public, something she well understood from her own foolish youth. "Then, perhaps we should let this one set up his wares, as I gave him permission to do for three days, and speak to your master."
Noro Ishi only nodded, turning briskly away, heading towards the gate to the castle. Yoritoko smiled at the hunter, before following him. "Keep back several of those peacock quills. They make excellent pens, and I shall need some soon."
Tagrun smiled. "It was not a peacock, lady."
"Truly? You know this how?" She frowned, upset at bad information she'd received.
"The victims were not slain and eaten. They were stone statues." He shrugged. "Cockatrice, I believe, they call the bird."
All within earshot shuddered and stepped away, many making warding gestures against that evil creature being named. Legends said speaking a creature's name summoned it.
Yoritoko looked shocked, even as Tagrun lifted a hand over his shoulder, removing two of the brightly colored feathers, with rich hues in hypnotic patterns across the quillions. "And, for saving me from Noro's blade, I offer these as a gift of gratitude." Seeing disapproval on her face, he smiled.
"Not a bribe, just a gift for not disturbing the rest of the market with violence."
She laughed. "You are a strange man, hunter. Your honor, though, rivals the greatest of this empire. Hence, I accept your gift." The left hand, callused from handling a sword hilt, accepted the feathers. "Be wary of any other items you may have collected from the beast, though. Such are prized by sorcerors, and hence, forbidden to be sold or gifted in this land."
Tagrun shrugged. "Thank you for that advice, great lady." His eyes shifted suddenly to his left, noting the small boy who often haunted the bazaar and Artisan's Ward. One said to be a thief, though none ever caught him. "And take a small hint, if you will." He said, when his gaze returned to the Emperor's envoy.
"That one." She laughed aloud, shocking manny. "Yes. I know of her."
"The boy?" Tagrun queried.
Still laughing,the great lady turned away, speaking softly over her shoulder. "Best teach him more of hunting people, bounty hunter. Especially the difference in how a man or woman walks, even when young."
Meeting Codi's eyes, Tagrun raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, my lady." The bounty hunter's face was just as perplexed. "Damned if she ain't as good as me.. I thought Smoke was a boy too. See me later, Scorpion. We'll talk it over. Out at Gyevo's Inn."
The name his teacher called him stung. "My name is Tagrun."
Slapping the ball with a single curved flange whose chain wrapped around the hunter's left shoulder, the older man laughed. "We call you Scopion for this stinger of yours, Best get used to the name, or lose this chained tail." He gave Tagrun a guarded look. "Besides, it is best to work under another name than the one you grew up with. Keeps family and old friends sheltered from your actions."
Tagrun nodded, wrapping his mind around the idea of the name. "Yet you still use your name, clan and all."
"Any bad that descends on my family is deserved." Codi frowned. "Someday, you might hear the tales of them, and know what I mean."
Tagrun puzzled over that parting comment, as he dropped his pack on a square of red sandstone cobbles, removing the rolled blanket to spread out his loot from the hunts across. As always, his eyes strayed to the shop at the end of the street, near the southeast corner of the walled part of the town. The blows of hammer on steel rang from that place, where the grey skinned dwarf worked in the orange glow of the fires of his forge. The dwarf who introduced him to Codi two years before, when he came to Cosarali, hunting the killer who slew members of his clan, and stole the love of his life.
He wondered again at who the dwarf truly was, for when folks said his name, he sometimes did not answer. Tozuru, as always, noted his observation, and met his eyes with a sage nod.
* * *
Smoke stepped back into the gap between buildings when the hunter glanced at her. She scowled, surprised the great lady revealed her most precious secret. All thought she was a boy, and she liked that. It let her hide after a theft more easily. Or during one.
The hunter stirred strange feelings in her. Like her, he bore the cat slit eyes and sharper point to ears, though his ears extended up further, curling back into his hair slightly. Hers were more cat like, sticking out of the indigo hair, just behind the two long braids made from her black streaks. Some claimed she dyed her hair for that look, but no henna would hide the rich blues of the rest, and no other alchemist's compound touched the darkness of the braids constrained.
Under the cotton weave robe, she wore her own form of leathers, not the deep brown of the hunter, though. Smoke's leather pants and jerkin kept the grey tones from the great Vadagri her clan followed as totem spirits. The knives at her belt also came from those beasts, called aurochs or oxen by the locals and elves.
"Elf, yet in Kenrai clan leathers. Tagrun Kenrai, the hunter who made a necromancer know fear." Her whisper caught the great lady's ears as she passed the gap.
"Don't, young girl. He is better than any here. Even me." Yoritoko shused back.
"You told them my secret." Smoke snapped. "You promised not to, Lady 'Itoko."
The great lady stopped, appearing to look at a bolt of patterned silk, fingering it gently. "Yes, but as part of my promise, little ox-girl. If any can find out if your clan survived that battle, that one can." Turning to the tailor, she ordered two kimonos of the material. "You know my dimensions and preference in cut, master Hiro."
Smoke stayed still, not wanting her favorite lurking hole revealed.
"Certainly, great lady. Place the coins away, please. You still have credit on your account from the last purchases." He said. Then he scowled at the gap. "Scat, you sneak. No theiving today."
Smoke laughed. "Hiro? Me, steal? At your shop?" She stepped out lightly.
"Every time, you scamp. Even if it is only to get me back what the customer tried to short me." The tailor snorted. "Best not let your master know you have any honesty."
Walking away backwards, she tossed a small pouch back. "Indeed. Especially as Mattias tried to get away with this from Lady 'Itoko." She took a lesson from Yoritoko, turning away to leave a comment over her shoulder. "He likes to pinch change in the teahouse, mistress."
The tailor and lady laughed, watching her strut off. "Smoke has guts, I'll give him that."
"Yes. Too much, sometimes, for her own good." Yoritoko whispered, after Hiro went inside his shop. She smiled at the girl, knowing full well the little scoundrel took her warning about the hunter as a challenge.
* * *
Tagrun kept his eyes on Smoke, once he, or she if Lady Yoritoko was correct, began to openly wander the street. Smoke was notorious for stealing anything he wanted, and that child's eyes kept coming back to his wares. The hunter found himself distracted in his bartering, giving up too much for lesser wares he needed, missing a few hints at other items the customers of the day asked for the first time around. Most understood, being just as nervous at the boy's drifting too near from time to time. The few who did not, soon expressed shock at missing coin pouches.
And not a single time, even the last while watching for it, could Tagrun see the fingers doing the lift. By noon, he was frustrated, as one of the customers stolen from came back to accuse him of being part of the theft. That set the hunter to watching closer.
Tozoru exited his shop just after the main body of people finished their mid-day meals. The stocky dwarf's meandering path took him out of sight onto the side alleys several times, then he stepped from the same gap Smoke kept retreating too, rattling the thief as he approached it to disappear for a bit again.
Still chuckling over the stunt, the knife maker stepped near the hunter's blanket. "Well done, even if your master forgot to mention it." Tozuru whispered.
Keeping his mouth only slightly parted, Tagrun attempted to speak without moving his lips. "Thank you. Surprised me he failed to ask for the guild's cut."
"With all eyes upon you? Dangerous and foolish. Besides, if you managed to collect some thing other than feathers from the cockatrice, the guild might let you keep most of the payment." He motioned to some leather sections from the sea wolf's pups. "What price are you asking for those leather bits?"
"Make an offer, master smith." Tagrun's hand darted out from his lap, catching a young hand reaching for the last of the cockatrice feathers. "Ah, took you long enough, Smoke."
The child's laugh confirmed for the hunter what he'd been told. The pitch was too high for a boy's voice. Even a young one.
"The pebble?" She asked.
"Silk, while quiet on its own, makes a distinctive sound on leathers." Tagrun shrugged, releasing the hand. His eyes narrowed at the bead-work on the leather sleeve under the silk one. "The lady's concern and warning now have a reason.
She jerked her hand back, angry at the comment. "I like the leather."
Handing over the pieces of the hide in question, he shrugged to Toruzu. "We can settle later, after you determine a use for them, master smith."
"I think we can be assured I shall find a use. Say a nice sword, one suitable for facing the Jitto with?" Toruzu joked.
Tagrun grimaced. "I hoped that last try of his would be the last. Can we discuss that later?"
"Over some food. I am overdue to visit the fireplace at Gyevo's." The smith winked at Smoke. "Warned you. He's good."
"So am I." She retorted, forcing Tagrun to gasp as he realized her other hand pilfered an intricate bead bracelet from the blanket. One he did not remember possessing.
"Very nimble, indeed.:" Another voice, masculine, with a hint of humor said.
Looking up, Tagrun smiled. "Hello, father."
"You look well, despite the passing snows, my son." Drix Kenrai said. "One hoped you would return, or send word of your hunt."
Tagrun grew solemn. "The trail ends here. None have yet learned to track a beast that walk on water, save by rumors of his passage." Shrugging, he returned to watching the child for more thefts. "But here, such rumors are often heard."
"And of Chanti?"
The head motion told the older hunter all he needed to know. No word, no clues as to her fate.
"What is the word from the duwimi?" Tagrun asked.
"Tears and still sands." The words his father spoke lowered the hunter's head.
"Shala or Shalu?" He asked.
"Shalu. The shala walked with me here. She wished to speak with you of sands cast just before he passed." Drix motioned to the girl. "Sands I now understand, even if I was puzzled at a dead clan being alive before."
"We are not dead. Just none may enter the Grass who remain." Smoke said softly. "I am the last who may. Two others remain here in town, banned from the Grass for crimes against the clans."
Both the Eagle clansmen nodded, knowing the longing in her voice. One from being separated from his people, the other from being part of a clan reborn.
* * *
Below the never closed window, the sounds of the bazaar and caravans still rose and fell after the sun set. Breezes stirred the thin cloth coverings framing it, something others felt he'd needed to give him privacy. Inside, little save the roll of blankets, and two large packs, rarely unloaded, gave any hint someone lived in the room.
Smoke looked around the room, surprised. Jarthula and Hiando both decorated their small hut outside the walls with items from the Grass, some as cherished prizes stolen, others as reminders of those who they claimed drove them from the Grass wrongly. Nothing in the room spoke of the origin of the occupant, and to a thief, that raised her internal alarms.
The old woman who joined them crossing the bazaar's open plaza spoke first.
"It is permitted to make yourself comfortable when on such a long hunt, Tagrun."
The way the corners of the hunter's mouth lifted up, one at a time, then lowering as the other lifted, forced Smoke to suppress a giggle. For such a fearsome man, to the locals, he seemed so normal to her. Just another target to steal from, though much more of a challenge.
"Things that make one comfortable attract fingers that stick." He gestured to Smoke.
The nice thing about being a child, Smoke thought, is being able to still do certain things when caught or chided. She indulged her self in her favorite behavior, sticking out her tongue at him.
The shala settled onto the lone chair, stopping. "Cushions in the seats?"
"One never knows when the shala will come bearing words the sands speak, or just to see her grandson is eating well." Again Smoke found herself changing her opinions about the one the guards called the Scorpion.
"The sands speak only to those they are cast for, not other ears." The old woman said, leaving the girl feeling very exposed with an open glare.
"Roll up her sleeve, shala." The older man said.
Eyebrow raised, the shala gestured the girl to her.
Instead, Smoke felt her pride stung by the gesture, refusing, but letting her know she was of the Grass and Winds. "Oheiye, shala su Kenrathi. Kura Narzuna Vadagrai."
The girl watched the head cock to one side, the gaze turning from imperious to intrigued, then smug. "So. Swift Cloud still wanders about, far from the lands the Vadagrun graze upon, not knowing..."
"My clan died the night I was taken. Two of the clan, outcasts, expressed their outrage of the last child being prisoner when the raiders stopped here." She shrugged. "They thought to teach me a profession." She grinned. "Never told them I was Swift Cloud Sticky Fingers."
The old woman grinned fiercely at her, as if proud, somehow. "I expect no less, child. And now understand the sands I cast upon to birthing bloods better."
That suggestion, that the woman she faced was the one to cast her birth sands, sent shivers up Smoke's spine. "It is forbidden to speak of the birth castings..."
"Your duwimi are gone, lands you hunted burned and salted by those raiders, and your totems driven afar, but still the sands talk." The old woman's hands wove patterns in front of her. "Three reasons let one know what the sands of the birth blood say. Long hunts, away from the Grass for those that harm the clans, when one is outcast their sands are shown to all, and if one is the last of their clan, and the skin the drawings were made upon survive, one is permitted to see if they must never walk Grass again, or how to bring the clan back."
Smoke jerked, surprised. "But only one remains...."
"I was the first child of the returned Eagle." The shala said, sadly. "It is a long road ahead, for you to find those that will drive the beasts the pointed ears call auroch back onto the Grass, but you will." Then that wicked grin. "It will take you time, and adventures, but I think you enjoy adventures."
"Only if I can make a profit." Smoke grinned.
* * *
Staring at the black metal blade, Davet Gworstan scowled. His part in creation of this knife still disturbed him, despite the decades since passed over the cataracts of time. Each time he thought it destroyed, the damned thing turned back up, in the hands of some foolish assassin, or at his doorstep somehow.
When Dzhino stopped by two moons before, grim-faced, he'd known why, without asking. His old friend said nothing for hours, after dumping the weapon on the white silk tablecloth in Davet's study, just took a seat by the fireplace, staring into the unknown with his deep-set eyes.
Now, the mage tried once more to bind the blade, hoping to prevent the power within it access to shadows, by which it slithered from every binding before. Something difficult for one of his school, whose magic focused on the power of shadows.
Moments like this left the mage wishing the crafting of the blade had not cost him his body. Such efforts as he now made should be rewarded with sweat and blood oozing from ones pores, amid the pain he felt, struggling against the sentient knife for dominance.
The shattering of the focus crystals, all seven, left him cursing in several languages. For a moment, success fleetingly touched his crafting, only to unravel in a mass of umbranic tendrils, as the power within sought the lives it craved. Behind him, a woman inhaled sharply, the lone observer to his failure.
"I cannot say to the Emperor that you have not made efforts to bind this demonic thing, at least, mage." Her voice held the melodic lilt marking her as of Ankhgor, as she spoke in the tongue of the long fallen empire before the one she served.
{ended here, should have explored it more, have tons of notes.... }
