Chapter Fourteen
Truce
Johna kept them moving at a steady pace. Every so often she’d warn them of a tree or other obstacle they’d have to step around, but otherwise she seemed to stay on a direct path.
“How far are you taking us?”
“It’s not much farther.” A pause. “If you feel better keeping your sword drawn, by all means.”
Her remark indicated that Yulen had his free hand occupied. The same for Lucien, who continued to wield his brother’s dagger.
The one named Phillo kept close behind. Since Johna held both his and Yulen’s hands, Lucien had to assume Phillo carried her weapon.
“There’s a drop-off up a few hundred yards up ahead. It goes down to a small stream where we’ve set up camp. You can warm yourselves by the fire when we get there.” She no longer spoke in a hushed whisper, but neither did she raise her voice in order to warn the others ahead of them.
Lucien sniffed. He was unable to detect any smoke, but if their fires were on the opposite side of the small bluff, it was possible the smoke would be downwind from them.
“You said you’ve come a long way. Where are you from?” the battle lord inquired.
“Hobron will explain everything,” she countered, then suddenly came to a halt. “Hold,” she ordered, and released their hands. She made a soft trilling noise that Lucien had heard before. It was one his mother often made to notify others she was in the vicinity whenever she went out into the woods. Atty called it a hunter’s call.
They stood in the dark, waiting. It wasn’t very long before Lucien heard a swish of branches but no footsteps. These were seasoned Mutah hunters coming to meet them.
“Luc?” Yulen softly questioned. Either he’d heard them, which wasn’t likely, or he suspected they were approaching.
“They’re surrounding us,” he told his father.
“All is well,” Johna said aloud. “I have brought the Battle Lord of Alta Novis and his son, the battle prince, with me to see Hobron.”
Someone scoffed. “Nice joke, Johna.”
“No! Really! That’s who he says he is!” Phillo argued.
“And you believed him?” the same voice challenged.
“He’s a Normal. And I’ve seen the scar on his face,” Johna continued. “The battle prince is half-Mutah. Why would they lie about such a thing?”
A light suddenly flared, cutting through the darkness like a golden knife. Lucien threw up a hand to block it until his eyes could adjust.
The person holding the lantern approached Yulen and held it up to examine the battle lord. Yulen pulled off his helmet to meet the man eye-to-eye. “He has the scar, like she said,” the man remarked.
“Why are you here?” the gruff voice demanded. The person it belonged to had a snout that reminded Lucien of a wild hog.
“Are you Hobron?” Yulen asked in an almost dismissive tone. “I need to speak to your head of council.”
“You can speak to me.”
Lucien eyed the snoutish man. They’d come to a standoff, but he knew the next step would be up to his father. He looked forward to see how the battle lord was going to proceed. If it was anything like he’d witnessed in the past…
“Why is the pup smiling?” the gruff man asked, not caring to mask his anger.
Yulen didn’t turn to verify if his son was smiling or not. It wasn’t necessary.
“Do you think this is funny, pup?” the man almost yelled. “Wipe it off your face, Normal, before I do!”
Realizing how this was probably going to turn out, Lucien did his best to hide his amusement, but it wasn’t good enough for the man, who started to stride toward him, an arm raised as if he meant to physically punish Lucien for his insolence.
“Assist!” Yulen called out, and swung his sword in a high arc. The man was not anticipating the battle lord’s action. Or, if he did, he had no idea how to counteract against it other than to raise his makeshift sword to ward off the blow.
Lucien leaped forward, following his father’s command, and aimed for the man’s legs. Hitting him at knee level with his shoulder, he rolled as the man toppled forward, knocked off balance. At the same time, Yulen brought the pommel of his sword down on top of the man’s head. It was over within seconds. The others watched in stunned silence as their comrade slumped unconscious to the ground.
One person tentatively asked, his voice quivering, “Is he dead?”
Yulen twirled his weapon expertly. It was something he only did for show, and that was rarely. But in an instance like this, it made the impression he was hoping for.
“No, but he’ll have a nauseating headache and some dizziness when he comes to. You’ll have to drag him back to camp.” He turned to Johna. “Now, unless there is some other reason why we’ll be delayed, take me to see this Hobron. Otherwise, leave us be and let me return to my men.”
Johna glanced over at one of the others who still surrounded them. One man who appeared to be suffering some kind of spinal deformity gave her a nod.
“Let’s declare a temporary truce, Battle Lord,” the man declared. “Come.”
With the lone lantern to light their way, Lucien and Yulen followed Johna to where a narrow path led them down the side of an embankment. The rest of the hunters followed, but Lucien sensed no ill will from them. If anything, he’d swear they were happy his father turned out to be whom he claimed to be.
As promised, a couple of hearty campfires could be seen on opposite sides of the flowing stream. Several people got to their feet from where they’d been sitting around the flames when the hunting party came into view. No one approached them or challenged them, although a couple of men hurried over to assist in carrying the fallen Mutah who remained out of it.
Johna led Yulen and Lucien over to where one man remained seated on a large rock. His clothing was difficult to see, as he was also covered with a thick dark coat of body hair, so long that he could have been totally naked underneath and no one would have been able to see anything. The long-haired man watched as the unconscious man was taken away before examining the newcomers. He waited for Johna to introduce them.
“Hobron, this is D’Jacques, the Battle Lord of Alta Novis, and his son.”
Hobron continued to stare at Yulen for several long seconds, finally waving a hand to indicate a couple of nearby rocks for them to sit upon. “How do we know for certain that you are the real D’Jacques?” he demanded before they had the chance to take a seat.
“Why do you need proof? And why did you refer to me as the real D’Jacques? Is there someone else who claims to be me?” Yulen countered. Still, he removed his helmet as a sign of trust. Lucien followed his father’s lead and also removed his.
The Mutah studied Yulen’s features. He appeared unfazed by the quip and narrowed his eyes. “Where is your wife? The Mutah huntress?”
“She and a fellow hunter have gone on ahead to check out the compound known as Whiterock.”
Hobron’s eyes flew open. “That is a bad place. A bad place. We’ve heard the maddening disease festers among those inside the walls. Is that why you’ve come here? To visit that compound?”
“That’s what Johna tells us,” Yulen said. “And, in a way, that’s also why I’m here. Johna tells us that you’ve also come a long way, but in search of me. You tell me your story, and then I’ll tell you mine. And perhaps we can both benefit.”
The Mutah councilman scratched the back of his head. An invisible cloud of indecision seemed to swirl around him. Narrowing his eyes, Lucien tried to read the man’s intent. “You’re still doubtful we are who we claim to be,” he commented. “Why won’t you take our word for it?”
“Because, as you have so blithely remarked earlier, we previously encountered a man who said he was Yulen D’Jacques of Alta Novis. And we suffered greatly at his hands before we miraculously managed to escape with our lives.”